Amber Roses
by Romanec
Summary: A collection of drabbles and what ifs surrounding the Tachi Aizawa attack. Newest: Tachi's little game.
1. Gomen, Yuki

**_Disclaimer: I do not own Gravitation. Maki Murakami does._**

_All drabbles and what-ifs will center around the Tachi Aizawa incident. They will variate in length (anywhere from 200-20,000 words) and involve most characters. _

_There will be mentions of rape, but there will not be any graphic rape scene. Please expect foul language, scenes of revenge, dark themes, and (as always) K's trusted guns. :)_

**Prompt: But that's okay, because Yuki's safe.**

**Rating: M, for memories of rape and dark thoughts.**

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**Gomen, Yuki**

"Damn it."

I can't hold the washcloth -- my hands won't stop shaking. The water simply drips away and down my leg uselessly, taunting as it gently travels the same path as the fingers from before. Each drop is like a fresh touch, and I can clearly hear the accompanying words.

(_What a good little boy_.)

(_God, you're so beautiful_.)

A loose cry pulls from my aching throat as the soaking washcloth is finally shaken from my grasp, and I flinch as it falls to the bathroom floor with a damp thud. I can feel their breaths on the back of my neck, and my spine tingles at the battered memory. Their laughter, the feel of hands roaming my body, kicks to my stomach, painful caresses to my face. Tachi kneeling in front of me as my tears slip, wiping up each one. He's my friend, my _friend_, and yet all he does as he comforts my pain is whisper again and again the threats to Yuki.

Yuki.

My knees give out, my weak grasp to the sink the only thing that keeps my head from slamming into the floor. Pain flares through my bones in endless deep surges -- I bite my lip to keep from crying out, but the pain only increases. I had forgotten they were raw.

Flashes. Bright flashes, the endless clicks of a disposable camera. A promise, a threat, a reason for my pain. Me, in exchange for him.

"Yuki."

I'm so cold, but I don't want to put those clothes on again. I don't want them on me anymore. They got what they wanted. _He_ will get what he wants.

"You're safe. You're safe. Yuki." I can't move, and I'm crying again. Tachi loves my tears -- he took so many pictures of them. I love them too. They keep Yuki safe.

"Yuki, gomen." I can almost see him in front of me, the same look of disdain on his face. That look used to crush me, but now I'd be happy to see it. Happy, because that means Yuki's okay. He's safe. I long for him to reach out a hand, to caress my bruised face, to wipe away my tears and kiss away the trails of loathing and hurt. But I also want him to turn away -- _walk_ away. Far away from me. Safe.

There's a gentle knock on the door, and just like that Yuki's image disappears before it can make any sort of movement. Hiro's calling for me, softly, like they did. They'll be back. Back to make sure I haven't forgotten.

_(Remember, Shindou.)_

And I will.

I say nothing to Hiro, and simply sag against the chilled wall. I see the washcloth on the ground, resting in a puddle of blood-tainted water. I will remember.

"Gomen, Yuki."

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	2. Beloved Snow

**_Disclaimer: I do not own Gravitation. Maki Murakami does._**

**Prompt: The first song Shuichi writes and performs after the attack, assuming he told Yuki he was only beaten.**

**Rating: T for dark thoughts, implied rape, and safety. **

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**Beloved Snow**

The lights over the Club-House stage dimmed as the final notes of _Glaring Dream _faded from hearing. The gathered crowd roared with awed approval of the freshly performed song, the excited words filling the large building with a steady, pleasant hum. With the album release still months away, Bad Luck's performance of their two released singles was a fix fans avidly appreciated, even if was only a performance for NG-Pro's showcase.

"Go on, Shuichi." The pink-haired teen jumped slightly as Hiro pushed gently against his back, urging him toward the mic once more. "If you're still sure about this...?"

"I-I am," he stuttered, and then shook his head, clearing it. There was no need for stage fright -- the fans would love a new song. And Yuki had once again denied his invitation for the concert, so he really wouldn't be here. And that was okay, this time ...

"Then go on," his best-friend urged again. "I'll help Fujisaki set up." Another push, and he was once again at the front of the stage, and of the crowd's attention.

It was now or never.

"Ohayo, everyone," he called out softly, and the crowd quieted, eyes turning expectantly toward Bad Luck's lead singer. The lights were suddenly bright under their scrutiny, and his hand shook violently as it clutched the microphone. Do this, do this. "I know that we are supposed to perform _The Rage Beat_ next. However, that ... well ... we're not going to be doing that." An instant protest shot up, the outrage of the fans clear and resonating. He winced at the sudden verbal attack, lowering his head as he threw his hands in the air. "Please, please! Instead, we're going to be performing an all new song, just written and not even released. _Beloved Snow._" Sparked interest, the crowd began to quiet down. "I would not _dream _of shorting any of you out on a song," he assured softly, head still bowed. "Would it be alright with you all if we performed it instead? It's really different from the others, and I want your opinions."

_Please_?

A general murmur of ascent, a few grunts of dissatisfaction. And then a large outcry of demand from the back that was quickly picked up from its enthusiasm, overwhelming any protests that were being given. The decision was made, and the crowd grew tense with anticipation, none able to see the small, sad smile forming on the singer's face as he nodded.

"Arigato," he whispered sincerely, and then turned. "Hiro? Fujisaki?"

Now or never.

The lights over the stage gave up their mutlicolored show in favor of an extremely shadowed icy-blue, bathing Bad Luck in an overcoat of chill as the keyboard began to strike soft, haunting notes. The crowd grew silent as the guitar joined in, eyes hypnotized as Shuichi began to hum with the music, his slight form rocking with each chord. Instrumentally alone it was the polar opposite of _The Rage Beat, _but when the teen lifted his head and opened his mouth, it became quite clear what he meant by "different".

_A coffin of glass for all to see dying innocence  
Trapped, suffocating, the pure white is a facade  
Marks of pleasurable sin tarnished by bruises of punishment  
I have fallen the grasp on the yellow ribbon  
Save you now._

_Flashes are secrets best left untold  
Tears of Rain wash away their want for you.  
Cheap touches, whispers, a battered soul thrown to the cold.  
Victorious, because though they broke the Rain, they will never touch the Snow._

It was haunting, lonely. Love poured from each note, as usual, but there was something else. Something deeper ... darker. Shuichi could feel the familiar tingle of passion in his spine as the words left his mouth, aching to arch. His body shivered with agony with every word as harsh, suppressed memories began to come forward. Tachi's face, the threats, the pain, the violation.

_A rose dies as bitter green fire burns its skin  
Alone, the fallen have no need for white charades  
What has one to do with the other in a game of cruelty and judgement?  
I bite back my longing for the yellow ribbon  
Save you now._

_Laughter says secrets won't be untold  
The Rain will always be a shield for you  
Painful cuts, bleeding, tarnish the cold ground below  
But murmurs from the Rain promise no sorrows for the Snow._

As practiced, Fujisaki faded out with Shuichi's voice, and suddenly Hiro was in the light. His guitar began to rage and wail, its anthem that of fury and despair. The passion building with each strum until it was at its climax. And then Shuichi threw himself back onto the microphone, crying out the lyrics as though he were screaming them from his soul. He could feel the tears burning in his eyes, but he would not let them fall. Not yet. Not yet.

_I will cry my tears in the cloak of night  
Scream my fears in the roar of the crowds  
The demons of nightmares grab me with harsh hands  
**Why is it so wrong to want to be with the person I **__**love?!**_

_Abandon, abandon, stay locked lonely in the still grave  
Sobbing, screaming, the glass begins to crack and break  
Roses wither, the fallen cry as the white is stained with tears of blood  
I beg for the safety of the yellow ribbon  
**Save me now!**_

Abruptly, the guitar cut off and Hiro faded back into the shadows, leaving only Shuichi on the stage, his shaking form hunched over the mic stand he clutched to for dear life, face once again hidden from view. For a moment, he simply stood there, panting, collecting himself. And then the keyboard started playing again, it's soothing notes of depression. He let the music travel up his spine once more, and finally arched, throwing his head back in unadulterated emotion.

._Flashes are secrets Rain made untold  
But its selflessness is failing now.  
Weak before, it is falling now, a mournful and unwanted existence.  
Yearning for cool, loving protection of the Snow._

Finally, he let his neck straighten, looking the crowd dead in the eye, though he focused on no one as the final words fell whispered from his mouth.

_Rain becomes Snow when chilled by Life  
But tell me, please.  
Can Snow learn to love Snow?_

_Save me now._

_Save me._

The lights blacked out entirely upon the last word, and finally his tears fell as the crowd went wild.

**-_______-**

They both stood there, hidden against the shadows of the walls, a perfect view of the stage as Bad Luck finished their surprise performance, quiet until it finished and cut the band from sight. When the crowd began to cheer, Touma Seguchi sighed and turned toward his guest.

"Do you understand my concern now, Eiri?" He inquired lowly. "Do you see? Shindou-san..." He fell silent, unable to describe his observations in words, and simply gestured hopelessly to his brother-in-law.

Golden eyes flashed.

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**_Song written by me._**

**_Let me know what you're thinking, please? :)_**


	3. Blame

**_Disclaimer: I do not own Gravitation. Maki Murakami does._**

**Prompt: "You think I blame you," he growled softly. "For them holding you like this."**

**M Rating for language and suggestive themes**.

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**Blame**

"Why do you think I blame you?"

"Huh?" Startled, Shuichi's eyes snapped open from his timid spot on the pillow, wide eyes stunned as they took in the profile of his pale lover's stoic face. The night had been quiet after their activities, as it usually was when Yuki was in one of his moods. The young Pop star had found himself reluctantly entering the normal grasp of a lonely sleep beside his partner when the unexpected words had interrupted the bitter silence. "Yuki?" He prompted softly, carefully. A coil was building in the low pit of stomach.

"Hn." The response was short, and slowly the larger man shifted until he was on his side. Their eyes locked -- a confused violet with a vicious amber. The air was tense, and Shuichi was unable to keep back to reflective flinch as Yuki carefully reached out a hand to glide across his cheek. The golden eyes narrowed at the action. "I've seen the way you've been skirting around me. You're trying to hide it behind hyper-activity and blatant displays of public affection." The hand continued its ministrations. "But when we're in the apartment, you don't bother me anymore. And you're more timid than a virgin during sex. Like you feel ... unworthy."

For his part, Shuichi looked down, ashamed and slightly embarrassed at the word's leaving the novelist's mouth. He knew the truth when he heard it. "I-I'm sorry, Yuki. I didn't mean to offend you or bother you or anything like that-."

"You damn brat." And before Shuichi knew what was happening, he was suddenly on his back, Yuki straddling him and pinning his wrists tightly above his head. A sharp intake of breath -- the position was far too familiar, too recent. Unwillingly, he struggled against the dominating hold, anxious to be free and at the same time yearning the connection. Yuki's hold merely tightened. "Stop it."

At the dangerous tone, Shuichi instantly did so, staring up at the man pleadingly. The glare softened to the blonde's normal expression.

"You think I blame you," he growled softly. "For them holding you like this." His grip tightened momentarily in point before his leaned down, brushing their lips together faintly. "For kissing you." One hand fell away to trace down Shuichi's neck in a gentle caress, before tracing down to his ribs. "For touching you. For giving you countless nightmares." Carefully, hips ground forward, drawing a gasp from the teen despite his fear. "For _ruining_ you."

The word was painful, and hearing it from his lover's lips was like a stab through his throat. Shuichi's gaze dropped from the adonis form above him as tears burned his eyes.

"No, Shuichi," the voice growled again. "Look at me."

"Ju-just leave me alone, Yuki," Shuichi pleaded softly. "Please. You're right, I'm sorry. I let them do what they did. I put you in danger, it's all my fault. I know. Just let me go, and I'll leave. I won't bother you anymore, I promise. Just-."

"_Look_ at me." The command was so fierce, so instructive, that the protesting tearful orbs did just that. And Shuichi saw the same golden eyes that had captivated him so tightly on that night so long ago. Saw the same aloofness, anger, and bitterness that had always been there. But as he stared longer, he saw a glimmer of something else. Something -- deeper, more ...

"Y-Yuki?" The gaze softened further, but Shuichi could say nothing as his lover leaned down once more, brushing his lips against Shuichi's forehead in an uncharacteristically tender move.

"I found the chipped mug you tried to hide in the back of the cabinet." The subject change was so abrupt that the rose-haired man jerked in surprise. "I threw it out -- I don't keep things once they've been ruined. They're not worth my time." Yuki pulled back just enough to catch Shuichi's eye.

"Understand, brat?"

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	4. Black Lightning

**_Disclaimer: I do not own Gravitation. Maki Murakami does._**

**Prompt: Yuki catches Shuichi in a flashback during a thunderstorm. Takes place 4 days after the attack. **

**M rating for Yuki's infamous language**

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**Black Lightning**

Fingers punched mercilessly at the worn keyboard of his computer; each button creaked and moaned in pain under his assault. But he simply glared at the white and black screen with narrowed eyes of amber, gritting his teeth in bitterness as, once again, he allowed love to exist. Hitomi had burst into the bathroom just in time to stop the battered and crusted kitchen knife from slicing into Takashi's wrist. Now she was holding him, promising him a life no longer filled with loneliness, and soothing away his tears with some of her own as she kissed them away. The epilogue would show a glistening ring on her finger and a smile on his face.

Lucky them. At least the ring would be damaged.

Yuki Eiri groaned deeply as he hit save on the final chapter, pulling his glasses from his face to massage his forehead, reluctant to continue on to his epilogue. The deadline, however, loomed overhead with a ten-hour ETA, and he did not wish to hear anymore whining from his editor about his apparent lack of time control. And the bright flashes of lightning outside of his window threatened a storm vicious enough to knock out the power and ruin his work if he waited long enough. And he did not want to have to write a sappy ending all over again.

Such a desire, however, did not keep Eiri from casting a wary glance toward the doorway of his study, nor stop the frown from forming on his face when he realized it was still empty. He had been surprised to find his young lover asleep on the couch when he had returned from the publisher's, out cold and oblivious to the world. It was highly unusual for the over-active singer, but since his deadline was so close, Eiri had jumped on the chance to get some work done while he was assured no disturbance.

He refused to believe that the sight of purple bags under Shuichi's eyes had anything to do with his decision to let the brat sleep.

"Damn it," he muttered as the sound of steadily drizzling rain came into existence, accompanied by a distant roll of thunder. Shit, this was just not ... damn. He quickly closed out the word processor and shut down the computer just as the power blinked out. Honestly, he made enough damn money that he should had have the rain-caused power outages cleared up by now. Touma would no doubt chastise him for not doing it sooner.

He couldn't even see his damn cigarettes. He knew that they had been close by, possibly half-slid under a stack of crapped-out ideas and trashy dialogue. He swept a tentative hand out carefully, freezing in the act as a particularly vicious bolt of lightning flared right outside his window, burning a white and violet hue, much like the brat's eyes whenever he was scared. The light lit up his study, revealing the sought-after cigarettes just as a wail of thunder cracked and resonated throughout his apartment, throwing everything back into darkness. But he could still get his cigarettes...

"_No_!"

The horrified cry from his lover's mouth instantly pulled Eiri away from his conquest, and he burst blindly forward without a second thought. He was used to Shuichi's over-exaggerations and hyperactive, inappropriate call-outs, but this was different. There was genuine fear in the teenager's cry of terror, and all Eiri could think was that someone had taken advantage of the cover of the storm and broken in, startling his lover awake.

_'It could just be a nightmare,'_ he argued softly, grunting loudly as he rammed into the hall's entertainment stand and flinching as the potted plant it held crashed to the floor. Shit. But at least now he knew he was back in his living room.

"Alright, you damn brat. What is it?" He was worried, and hadn't meant to growl. But his foot was throbbing and his head was pounding and he was keeping his hearing sharp for any sound that signaled an intruder. But all he heard in response was pained whimpers and the soft sobs he knew to be Shuichi.

"L-leave me alone," came the hoarse response, and again Eiri froze as lightning lit up the room. He could barely make out the younger man's thin form, huddled up and shivering at the end of the couch, eyes wide as they didn't really stare at him. Again, the light faded just as quickly, and Eiri frowned.

"Shuichi-." A yelp cut him off.

"Don't come near me!" It was so steady, so certain. Eiri tossed aside the brief hurt he felt at the vicious words.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" He demanded harshly instead, stepping closer. "Calm down! You're going to wake the whole damn neighborhood!" A whimper was all that answered. Another crack of thunder made the singer cry out again, moaning against the assault of unseen assailants.

"Stop! You're - you're supposed to be my friend! We're friends! Why are you doing this?"

And then, Eiri knew. Knew and remembered. The night he had kicked Shuichi out of his apartment, the night that the brat's friend had come to him hours later. It had been storming. Storming, and he had escaped into the rain. It had been dark, except for the flashes of the camera that had taken those damn pictures.

And Shuichi was remembering, too.

"No!" The rose-haired teen cried out again as Eiri got closer, and the older man refused to connect how much Shuichi sounded like he had, once. "Don't ... please! Just leave me alone, _leave me alone_!" Another flash of lightning; Shuichi's eyes were closed now. "I told you I'd do it -- I'll quit!"

The writer's eyes, if possible, narrowed further. At any other time, he would have taken the opportunity to squeeze answers from his lover -- it was the perfect chance. But the tears that he could see steadily flowing down his lover's face at the next lightning flash stopped his questions in his throat. Instead, he reached out and brushed his hand along his lover's neck.

But Shuichi jerked back. "Don't touch me!" He hissed desperately "Don't!" And the blonde flinched sadly.

_Oh, Shuichi._

But Eiri reached forward regardless of the hurtful protests, gently but firmly pulling the small body into his arms and against his chest, inhaling the sweet scent of Shuichi's innocence, tarnished by the fear he exhibited. God...

"Don't ... don't hurt me," the pink-haired youth murmured. "Please don't hurt me."

Eiri's eyes glinted at the next flash of lightning.

"I won't."

-__________-

He sat across from her at the table, outwardly calm. However, beneath the shelter of the thick wood, his long finger dug painfully into his knee as he waited.

"Today would be nice," he growled lowly, pinning his editor with a glare. "I have other places to be." She looked up to match his gaze, unaffected by the hard stare. He assumed she had grown immune to them over the years. Pity.

"It's ... different," she finally stated. "The way the chapters ended, I expected a happier epilogue. Not Takashi committing suicide anyway, or Hitomi following." His editor peered at him closely, obviously in question. But Eiri wasn't going to play the game today.

"Take it or leave it?" He demanded, sucking gratefully at his cigarette, thanking God for outdoor dining. Instantly, she pulled back.

"We'll take it, of course. Did you really doubt that?" She snorted as she placed his manuscript into her briefcase. "Ignore a novel of Eiri Yuki's. Right."

"Then we are done here." He released the smoke that had been building in his lungs. "Like I said, I have other places to be." He stood without offering any pleasantries.

"Wait, Eiri. I'm curious." He favored her with a glance. "Why? Why did she let him do it, and why did she follow?"

Unconsciously, he glanced down the street toward the direction of his apartment, imagining his lover asleep in his bed, finally resting after a night of endless storming, and answered her. "When someone you love is suffering, and you've done everything possible to help them with no success, you eventually have to trust that _they_ know what's best for _them_. And after they do that, you realize that you want to be with them _there_, too." He blinked, startled by his own words, and replaced his scowl. "Hn."

And left.

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_**As always, let me know what you thought!**_


	5. Fear

**_Disclaimer: I do not own Gravitation. Maki Murakami does._**

**Prompt: "And it hurts that I can't let him touch me, because all I want is for him to hold me"**

**Rated T for implied rape and sexual innuendos. **

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**Fear**

I hate this.

I don't understand at all. I let it happen for Yuki -- I let them ... do that ... so that I could protect Yuki. I did it for him, he knows that I did it for him, and even though he never says anything about it -- about what I did for him -- I know that I see just a little gratitude in his eyes every time he looks at me. But every time he reaches out to touch me, I can't help but remember their hands and their words. Those threats.

And I pull back.

God, I love him more than anything in the world. Whenever he's not around, even when I'm at the studio or he's at the publisher's -- it's hard to breathe or think straight. Loving Yuki -- _making_ love to Yuki -- was all I lived for.

But he's so intimidating, so big, and his eyes are so hard and cruel. They usually soften, at least a little, when he looks at me, but there's always that split second before he knows it's me he's looking at, when his eyes are still cold, that reminds me of _their _eyes, and that's enough.

I hate to say that I fear him, because I love him so much. And it hurts that I can't let him touch me, because all I want is for him to hold me, to make me -- us -- as we once were. But when the apartment goes dark because the sun's gone down, and all that's lighting our room are the dim lamps, I feel like I'm back _there_. And when he touches me -- just a small, gentle graze across my face, it burns and I whimper. Because all I see in the dark is Tachi.

He never says anything about it. But with that gratitude, I see hurt. And I see guilt.

And I hate my stupid fear of my lover even more.

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**_As always, I want to hear from you! :) _**


	6. Unexpected

**Disclaimer: I do not own Gravitation. Maki Murakami does.**

**Prompt: What if Shuichi had gone to Touma about quiting Bad Luck, instead of going to the band? Protective Touma. Not Touma/Shuichi romance. Sorry. :)**

**Rating: T for implications of rape, and otherwise just to be safe.**

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**Unexpected**

Maybe this wasn't such a good idea. Maybe he should have just waited until Sakano came in, or called Hiro and asked that he do this. Even going to K seemed more appealing, because as frightening as it was have a Magnum pointed in his face, caulked and ready to fire, it was nothing compared to the fear rising in his chest as he approached the double oak doors that would take him to the office of Touma Seguchi. The President of NG-Pro. His boss.

Yuki's brother-in-law.

Shuichi shook slightly as he paused right outside of them.

It was early; the clock on the wall had not even reached 7:30. The people he had passed by on his way up had either been janitors or secretaries harried by pre-opening work. All contracted bands had yet to come in, including his own. The sunlight that floated through the windows was gentle as opposed to the violent storm of the night before, deceitfully so. A tremor of pain raced across his back at the mere thought of the previous night, making the pink-haired singer cringe as he remembered exactly why it was he was here in the first place. No time for reminiscing, or second-thoughts. No _room _for second thoughts. Yuki was on the line, and there was nothing -- _nothing_-- more important than Yuki.

The reminder did little to stop the tears that flooded his eyes as he slowly knocked on one of the doors.

_'Don't be in,'_ he pleaded silently. _'Please, please, please, don't be in. Don't be here, please.'_

"Come in." The familiar cheerful voice was unwanted and welcome at the same time -- Shuichi jumped at it regardless of expectation, wincing as another muscle pulled. The urge to turn and run was almost undeniable; his fingers even slipped from the handle as his feet turned.

_(Quit Bad Luck, Shuichi. Quit singing, or I'll make sure these pictures get out.)_

"Tachi," he muttered under his breath, frozen in his turn. He could see the raven-haired singer clearly in his mind, could recall each curve of his expression that had twisted into vicious victory with every flash of his camera. The promised threats hung over his head in a cruel reminder, and his shoulders slumped at his selfishness. Disappointing Touma Seguchi was worth it, if it kept Yuki safe. He twisted the handle softly, and entered.

The office seemed less cold in than before. The morning sun was drifting rays between the remaining fog, shining through the endless windows in a glow that bathed the room in soft light. For one sweet moment, Shuichi honestly forgot where he was, picturing the serene room as an outside scenery. A gentle sanctuary that seemed to desire to heal his aching wounds. He allowed his eyes to drift closed, sighing inaudibly as the warmth flooded over his aching skin, and for the first time there was no image of his attackers looming behind his eyelids. Peace.

"Mr. Shindou?" Seguchi's voice was a whip crack back to his reality, and his eyes snapped open to see the blue-eyed President staring at him curiously, his ever-present smile firmly on his face. "It is a little early for you to be here, Mr. Shindou, isn't it? Is there something I can help you with?"

"Um ... Mr. Seguchi," he acknowledged with a bow of his head. Another muscle pulled. "Ouch," he hissed quietly, his knees buckling slightly.

"Do you need to have a seat, Mr. Shindou?" Shuichi had always marveled at how the older man could sound concerned when he really didn't care. Like now. "You look ... like you had a rough night." An accusatory tone.

_'Rough night,'_ he thought weakly. _'Yeah. Guess you could say that.'_

"I don't need a seat, Mr. Seguchi, thank you." He shook his head tentatively. "I won't take up too much of your time. I simply came to ... to inform you that..."

"Mr. Shindou?"

_(What would the world think of Eiri Yuki if they saw these pictures, huh? If they thought _he_ did this to you?)._

"I'm quiting Bad Luck."

-_________-

When Shuichi Shindou had shown up at his door, to be honest, Touma had expected his appearance to have something to do with Eiri and their recent confrontation. His brother-in-law had called hours before to inform him that he had kicked the singer out of his apartment, though the reason behind the call was still lost the keyboardist. He had been prepared for Shindou to ask him -- beg him -- to get Eiri to take him back, or talk some sense into the broken writer. Touma had been ready with dismissals, comebacks, and lectures. Had a long list mentally prepared for all the reasons for Shuichi not to be with his friend.

He had _not _been prepared for this.

"You wish to quit Bad Luck." Even as he repeated the words, they sounded wrong. Like spoiled milk or molded bread. The mere thought of Shindou not singing for the band he so obviously lived for was not even a thought he had favored with attention. It seemed improbable. _Impossible_.

"Yes," came the boy's quiet response, head bowed. "I know that Bad Luck has a contract, but since I would be the only one quitting, and the band would be staying, I didn't think it would be a problem. It's not, is it?"

There was a desperate note to the last sentence that had Touma's eyes narrowing on Shindou, his smile fading. There was something different about him, something less ... alive. He looked pale and cold. His arms were shaking obviously in the long sleeves that he wore, and his legs were swaying dangerously in warning of collapse. His form was slouched slightly, his head still lowered. There was something ... familiar about the stance. Something...

"Sit _down_." He didn't mean for his words to be so violent, but it garnered the desired results as the singer fell into the chair with a jump. Touma's eyes narrowed further as he saw Shindou flinch at the hard contact of the chair, the way he cowered slightly at the harsh tone.

_No_. But he could not deny how much he looked like Eiri had all those years ago.

This was not any of his business. Shindou was his singer, and nothing more. Their relationship was one-hundred percent professional, and he had no right to get into the teenager's personal life. The only concern he should have right now should be that the lead singer of one of his most popular and promising bands wanted to quit.

"Who did it?" His voice was low, and he knew he could not keep this professional. If he were honest with himself, he honestly liked Shindou. He was drawn to talent, naturally, but he had talented bands on his label he did not like as people. His energy reminded him of Ryuichi, but his spirit reminded him of Eiri before Kitazawa. Happy, carefree. It angered him greatly that the same fate had befallen them _both_.

The singer was so shocked that his head shot up, violet eyes wide with shock as they stared. Touma recognized the brush of heavy makeup along the right side of his face, the barely-seen tinge of brown.

"W-what?" Shindou stuttered in surprise, and Touma saw the flash of fear in his eyes. The uncertainty. Instantly, he covered his fury with the stoic smile, tilting his head at just the right manner to seem nonthreatening, but serious.

"Mr. Shindou," he spoke gently. "I have no intention of releasing either the band or you from your contract with NG." He held up a hand to stop the protest he knew would be coming. "I would like to know, however, who threatened you to quit singing." _'And who hurt you.'_But he didn't say that out-loud, merely watching as Shindou lowered his head again.

"I-I don't know what you're talking about, Mr. Seguchi-."

"Shuichi." He was still smiling, still kind, but maybe a more friendly approach would help this situation. "I know you. Not personally, of course, but I know your passion. Mr. Sakano, Mr. K, and even Fujisaki have spoken highly of your dedication and love for Bad Luck. You would not quit willingly, nor so easily." He leaned forward. "And it is important that you tell me if another person contracted to NG is threatening you or not. I cannot, and will not, allow such a person to remain in association with my company. You ... understand?"

For a moment, there was silence, and Touma watched as the younger male considered his words carefully. He noted the struggling rise of his shoulders that signaled labored breathing, the trembling of troubled thoughts. If he had known Shindou a little more intimately, he would have taken the teen into his arms and offered comfort. But that was not his place.

"They." Shindou's voice was dry and cracked as he spoke. "They have pictures." Touma nodded. He had expected no less. Violet eyes lifted once more, a light of shame in their turmoiled depths. "They threatened ... threatened Yuki."

The blonde-haired man sucked in a breath at that, fury growing into pure hate.

"Mr. Shindou," he growled softly, barely able to keep it tame to avoid scaring the singer further. "_Who_?"

"I wouldn't give up singing, if it were just me, Mr. Seguchi," came the reply that was no answer. "But I won't let them hurt Yuki. I'd die before I let them hurt Yuki." The shame shifted to the side for something else. "You ... understand?"

Touma studied his singer closely, took in everything. Had he only heard about this, and not seen Shindou for himself, he would have claimed the boy had placed his brother in unnecessary danger for selfish reasons. He would have believed that Eiri had suffered and that the teen had gotten away unscathed. But when he looked at the rose-haired, trembling mess in front of him, he only saw what he saw in Eiri that day in New York. Not shattered, but definitely broken, bleeding, and suffering. And he couldn't be mad at that.

"I understand, Shuichi," he assured softly. "Now, tell me."

_'Neither of you will be hurt again.'_

-_______-

Twenty minutes later showed the injured teen from his office and himself on the phone. He had given Shuichi the next two days off, asking his secretary to inform Mr. Sakano and Mr. K of the event. Now, he waited patiently for the rings to stop and for the familiar beep of the phone that was never answered.

_Beep._

How apt.

"Eiri, it's Seguchi," he whispered into the mouthpiece. "Mr. Shi- Shuichi stopped by my office this morning. Something has happened, Eiri. I sent him your way about twenty minutes ago, he should be there soon. Please let him in -- you will see what I mean. Rest assured, my friend, that I am taking care of the problem. I beg of you not to do anything rash. I'll call you soon with the results." He paused, words left unspoken on his tongue. So uncharacteristic, so unexpected of him. But maybe that would catch some attention. "And Eiri ... please be careful with him. You were right. He's ... unusual."

He hung up, dialed a new set of numbers, and this time was impatient for the answering voice. When it came, his smile was completely gone, and his instructions were growled into the phone.

"This is Seguchi. I require your services once more. Meet me at the alley behind the Galaen at 10 o'clock. I will be doubling your rate. This time will go farther."

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**I really liked this one. :) What did you think? Drop a review a let me know!**

**PS - Have you checked out my new fic, Lyrics for Salvation, yet? It's inspired by the 2nd entry to Amber Roses!**


	7. Sacrifice

**Disclaimer: I do not own Gravitation. Maki Murakami does.**

**Prompt: Shuichi reflects on how everyone is fooled. (Ignores Eiri's breakdown).**

**Rated: M for strongly implied rape. Please be warned.**

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**Sacrifice**

Lying here on this bed, so many months later, and I still barely manage to keep myself from jumping away when Yuki's arms wrap around me.

He never says anything – no one does. They believed me when I said Tachi Aizawa simply had me roughed up to get his point across. And why wouldn't they? All I had to do was say I was protecting Yuki (which is the truth), and they didn't question it.

Okay, that's not entirely true. They all said something at one point or another – even Fujisaki and Mr. Seguchi. My wariness of strange, large men and constant agitated state was suspicious to them, and their own nerves over the attack were high, too. To the group from NG, I simply waved it off as nerves, claiming it was perfectly natural for me to be a little freaked out and wanting to protect myself. To Hiro, who had known me longest, I let a little more of the truth slip out. I confided that I had been hurt by someone I thought I could trust, which had never happened to me before. I admitted that the world looked a little different to me now. That now, not every person I passed had the potential to be a new friend. That I was no longer instantly trusting.

He had looked a little sad when I told him this, but had nodded and mumbled something along the lines of, "You had to grow up eventually, Shuichi."

I never told him how much that stung.

Yuki had questioned me with his eyes when I woke up on his bed the next day. A deep, calculating look that knew too much. He hadn't voiced his question, but I had voiced my negative answer in a voice so cheerful I cringe at the memory. My body had hurt so bad, and my head had been spinning enough that I knew moving wasn't a good idea, but I had calmly asked for the film I saw clutched in his hand. I had chased him down for that reason. Not because I was happy he was fighting for my honor, or because I didn't want him to murder Tachi. But because I didn't want him to see those pictures, to see what they had done to me. A grunt, and he had tossed the small pack toward me silently. I tossed it into the sewer that night.

After negating every fear just once, I was never asked about it again, and life went on. And I had to follow it.

I'll never forget that night, or what they did. Being forced to my knees on the cold cement as they beat me, and then on my hands as well as their hands wandered and tore at my body; as they violated and ruined me. My screams still echo in my own ears and make my throat burn in memory; still bring tears to my eyes. Sometimes, more often than not, I can see Tachi kneeling in front of me, whispering soothing assurances mixed with threats as he hurts me, caressing my face and taking pictures. My nightmares have never ceased, and it was on those nights that I was thankful Yuki's writing kept him from bed until the early hours of the morning. Because by the time he finally did trudge to the bedroom, I had exhausted myself with tears and the memories of large daunting bodies burning my skin. The nightmares are felled only to such exhaustion.

It hurts occasionally – more than occasionally – that my friends and lover believed me so easily, even though it's what I wanted. I find myself so restless sometimes – so desperate – that I just want to grab them and shake them and tell them I was raped. I want them to hold me, comfort me, kill Aizawa and his thugs for what they did to me. I want the sexual jokes of all kinds to stop being said, and I want K and Mr. Sakano to be a little more understanding when I'm not one hundred percent chipper when singing songs of naïve love and rainbows. I want Yuki to understand that my flinches aren't because I'm sore, but because I'm scared, because he's not always gentle and the positions he likes reminds me too much of that night.

But I can't tell them, not even now. Before, I had kept quiet to keep them safe – both Yuki and the band. But now, I know that telling them will only hurt them, and make them feel guilty. They're so happy, everything is going well for us all. Bad Luck's sweeping Japan in waves, and Yuki's new book has been at the top of the best-seller for the past two weeks. Our success has Hiro so happy he's patching things up with his mom, and Fujisaki and Seguchi can talk without any biting remarks on talent. And Yuki … Yuki's smiling at me a little more. Smiling a little more in general. He's been smoking less, and his coughing has lessened. He's … happy.

It hurts _all of the time_, when I'm left alone to face Tachi's permanent presence in my head, because everyone is so sure I'm fine. But I'll handle it. In the studio, on stage, or here in bed, shaking slightly enough to blame chill as Yuki's arm tightens unconsciously around me.

I'll handle it.

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**Not the prompt I planned on writing on, but here it is nonetheless. Bossy little thing. **

**Anyway, I do love hearing from all of you, of course, so please continue to let me know what you think about the entries. :) Also, I'm looking for some prompt ideas. I want to do about 50, and I only have 42. So any help you can provide would be extremely appreciated! :) Thank you x2 for help and reading!**


	8. Broken

**Disclaimer: I do not own Gravitation. Maki Murakami does.**

**Prompt: Shuichi held the chipped mug close to his chest, a tear tracing down his cheek. Broken, just like he was. **

**Note: Ties into the 3****rd**** entry, "Blame".**

**Rating: T for mentions of rape, dark thoughts, and dark fluff.**

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**Broken**

The moon was barely large enough to light up the large apartment in lieu of the giant glass balcony door, but even if it was not there at all, Shuichi would not be lost. He knew his way around the home with his eyes closed (had tested that theory soundly several times). The pink-haired teen dared not turn on a light, at any rate, knowing that even the slightest variation in nightly happenings would awaken his lover in an instant.

_( I found the chipped mug you tried to hide in the back of the cabinet. I threw it out. )_

It was a stupid thing, really. A few weeks ago, though he would have mourned the loss, he would have been okay with tossing out a rui-chipped up mug, in the end. There were so many more in the apartment that they took up two cabinets. He had just kept this one because Yuki hadn't been there to tell him to toss it. But now here he was, sneaking about in the middle of the night to pull said mug out of the trash. He couldn't bear the thought of getting rid of something that had the same problem as he did.

_( I don't keep things once they've been ruined. They're not worth my time.)_

It seemed heartless.

_( They're not worth my time. )_

Shuichi opened the pantry gently, cringing in expectation of a creak that did not come, before smiling slightly at the dim revelation of the blue trashcan inside. With gentle movement, he lowered his hand inside, brushing away the revulsion of trash as he sought the smooth coolness of the ceramic cup. His fingers grazed it with a jolt of surprise not even halfway down, and before he could contemplate his actions he retracted, carefully releasing the mug from its prison. His smile grew soft and slightly sad at the sight of it. Chipped indeed – it looked as though it had been callously treated and dropped one too many times. Had he really been the one to do this? Treated something so pure, so harshly?

He flinched.

"There's nothing wrong with you," he whispered softly as he shut the pantry door, caressing the gleaming white mug soothingly. "You're just a little banged up, no reason to throw you away. Broken things can be fixed, you know." He froze as the words left his mouth, shaking slightly as he recalled having heard them before. Having heard them before, coming from his own lips as he had stared at his battered reflection in the mirror. And though he had them to himself, he had not believed them. Not for a moment. "I'm such a hypocrite, huh?" He laughed sadly, shaking his head. "Sorry. I know what you're thinking."

And as his body began to shake, Shuichi held the chipped mug close to his chest, a tear tracing down his cheek. Broken, just like he was. And tossed out, like he should be.

"I thought you said you understood."

With a startled yelp, the singer whirled around to face the source of the voice, eyes wide and guilty as they took in the form of his lover leaning against the door frame, a cigarette unlit in his mouth. "Y-Yuki."

The blonde regarded him critically for a moment, so intensely that Shuichi fidgeted nervously, still holding the mug protectively. And then amber eyes rolled as the novelist slowly shook his head, stepping into the kitchen.

"I told you about the mug to prove a point, brat," he said casually as he moved closer. "The point that I kept you around, even though you think you've been ruined, and threw out something I _knew_ was ruined." He stopped just before they could touch, locking their eyes together. Shuichi was entranced by the wild show of emotion behind the usual cold gold, and stunned when a pale hand ghosted up his cheek to wipe away the falling tear. "The point that I … don't think you're ruined."

"But … but what about … the ra… about …" The teen's rambling were cut off by a whisper of lips against his, lips that traveled slowly up his nose to his forehead, where the rested and spoke whispered words.

"You're not ruined." He closed his eyes as the gentle breath caressed his skin, sighing as the lips on his forehead curved into a soft smile. "And you can keep the mug, if you want."

"Promise?" _Promise you're not going to throw me out? Promise I'm not … that I can be fixed, Yuki?_

"Yeah, brat." _I promise. If you really think you're broken_, _I'll fix you myself. _"Just wash it out first. But in the morning. For now, come back to bed."

**End**

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**Remember, this ties into the 3rd entry, "Blame". And thank all of you who submitted ideas. Some I can use, others I already have on my list. But I've made it past 50, now, so we're all good to go! Thank you, thank you, thank you. ^.^**

**Please remember to drop a review and let me know what you thought of this entry! I'll try to have Lyrics updated by tomorrow. :)**


	9. Poor, Sweet Innocent Thing

**Disclaimer: I do not own Gravitation, Maki Murakami does.**

_**Prompt: Shuichi falls before he can make it to Hiro.**_

_**Rating: M for dark thoughts, implied rape, and suicide. Skip if you'd like, but no flames, please.**_

* * *

**Poor, Sweet Innocent Thing**

I feel so empty.

_Stolen from me in exchange of torture_

_I think such words are unbecoming of you_

_Like a thieving demon waiting in the darkness_

_I will spill my blood for you._

Maybe it has something to do with the puddle of blood I'm sitting in. Losing blood would make you feel empty, right? It really should have washed away by now, I think … or it would if I would turn the shower on. But I'm so tired of water, of being wet. Because when you're wet, it makes everything hurt that much worse. And last that much longer.

And I'm tired of pain.

_Screams are hollow and unheard_

_But your cruel comfort is so much clearer_

_Wrap me in madness and bathe me in pain_

_My nonexistent saviors are drawing nearer._

Did you know no one heard me? I screamed. I screamed so long that my throat burns every time I swallow. I screamed so loud that they slammed their fists and feet into my jaw until it stopped working. But no one heard me, I guess. Because no one came, and I don't know why. I didn't think I was invisible, or that insignificant. Am I wrong? They all knew no one would come; they laughed when I tried.

_Lingering beneath my skin in promise_

_A haunting memory locked inside with no key_

_Worship me with claims, bruises, and need_

_I know that you will never leave me._

I can feel them on me, all over me, around me. My skin feels so dirty its driving me insane, and more times than not I see their hands ghosting over. But when I look again there's nothing but clean skin. I can still hear their whispers in my ears, hot and cruel and painful as they touch me. Wrapped around me, in me, never leaving, and it sends tremors so violent through my body that it jars my injuries. They won't leave me. They promised then, they promise now.

_Betrayed, betrayed? Naïve say they_

_Rejected, desired, unwanted, and loved_

_Reach out, pull back, don't you dare._

_Are my words unclear and twisted yet?_

He was my friend! He helped me, I trusted him. His words of comfort over my rejection were soothing, understanding. I trusted him! Why… why would he do that? Why would he hurt me?

Why?

Something tells me I should have gone to someone. Maybe to Hiro – he would help. Or my parents … but no. I couldn't burden them. Because that's all I am, a burden. A pain. Nothing but trouble.

_White knights crumble and fall_

_They never truly existed, though they were solid and real_

_You poor, sweet innocent thing with a shattered soul._

_Did you really believe that happiness was real?_

Yuki would say I'm being melodramatic. That I was overreacting. But I don't care anymore. I don't care about Tachi Aizawa, or Bad Luck, or singing. I just want this feeling to go away. I want to forget what happened, that no one came for me. That no one is looking for me right now, because no one cares.

And this way, everyone gets what they want, right? ASK can be NG's band now, Yuki can have his career. Hiro and Fujisaki can play for other groups, now that their talent has been recognized. And Yuki's sister gets rid of me.

_Like a whisper, when you say my name_

_Lost in the depths of sweet insanity_

_I'm not going to reach for the pain, no matter the salvation_

_When the darkness is so much kinder._

Razors can be sharp, when you press hard enough. Funny, I always thought this would hurt. But I guess that's just on the wrist. But on my neck, right over the teeth mark that still throbs with lingers of dark pleasure…

It feels really good.

_Fall, fall, no questions asked_

_I'm enjoying this comforting oblivion._

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**I won't share my thoughts on this one, but I would love it if you would share yours with me in a review! :)**


	10. Confusion

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Gravitation. Maki Murakami does.**_

_**Prompt: **__No one told Tatshua about the attack, so he greets Shuichi in his normal, flamboyant manner._

_**Rating: T **__for mentions of rape, sexual innuendos, and language._

* * *

**Confusion**

Tatshua knew Eiri hated it when he showed up unannounced – couldn't stand it. The raven-haired teen had more than a mere few marks and scars to prove his brother's crossed boundaries. He could recall every warning and threat by heart, and often voiced them along with his brother when Eiri tried to reinforce them (which earned him even more bruises.) Mika had scolded him several time for his stupidity, while Touma had expressed concern over the physical repercussions of his actions. But Tatshua wasn't bothered enough to be troubled then, and he certainly wasn't bothered enough to be troubled now. Not now that Eiri had found himself a new a rather (okay, _extremely_) attractive boyfriend in the form of Shuichi Shindou.

Damn, but Tatshua had never met anyone like the pink-haired celebrity before. He had been doubtful, at first, when Mika had mentioned that someone had wormed their way into his older brother's attention, but after meeting said someone, he was simply awed. Of course, he would be the first to admit that most of that awe was derived because the singer happened to be a near twin to Ryuichi Sakuma, love of his life and yet unconquered quest. But there was also the fact that Shuichi was … well … Tatshua had never met anyone as nonjudgmental and pure as the other teen, and he was attracted like a bee to honey.

Which explained his current, silent trek up the gentle pathway of Eiri's apartment building, the gleam in his eye, and the bubble in his step. Under the glare of the sun, a smirk formed on his face that he couldn't control. For the past two weeks, his brother had kept his lover under possessive lock, keeping him from Tatshua's every advance. He missed his friend, and he had it on rather … good authority that Eiri was meeting with his publisher today.

'_Maybe Shuichi will be so happy to see me that he'll even let us continue that little role play from last time,' _the teen mused humorously, sliding Eiri's spare key from his pocket to open the common door. _'I'll be a darker Bro and he'll be a lighter Ryu and together we can light up the sky with stars … early.' _He shook his head with a small laugh as he jogged up the stairs.

Eiri's apartment was, technically, the entire top floor, and Tatshua had always thought it a little creepy that it was dimly lit and homey – like a scene from a trashy yet terrifying horror movie. He deftly removed his sunglasses as he stepped into the eerie hallway, assuring himself that he quick steps were just to get to Shuichi faster, and had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that the top floor just … freaked him out.

_**Knockrapcrack!**_

Same thing for the wicked knock he threw on the gray door. Not scared at all.

"W-Who is it?" Tatshua almost didn't recognize the soft call for the singer's voice as it pulled timidly through the door. It was so unexpected and so … dull for Shuichi. Eyebrows crinkled, he kept silent, unwilling to wreck the surprise. "I can-can't open the door if you don't tell me who you are." Closer, this time, and a little more clear – Shuichi had moved forward, towards the door. His voice sounded more off than before, a little more raspy – maybe he was sick.

'_That's okay!' _He cheered mentally, gently sliding the key into the lock in a silent movement. _'I've got a key! My surprise will make you feel better, Shu!!'_

"_Shuichi!_" Tatshua roared the name of his brother's lover as he threw open the door without warning, barely catching glimpse of wide, horrified amethyst eyes and pink hair as he clutched the slim body close to his own. He paid no mind to the stiff, unwilling limbs as he chanted happily. "Shuichi, Shuichi, Shuichi, _Ryuichi_!" He threw on the other singer's name for emphasis, hoping his friend would catch on to his game as he allowed his hands to grope. The unresponsive body finally began to move, twisting and bucking slightly, making the youngest Uesugi's glee grow as he forced his weight forward and threw them both heavily to the floor. "Let me make love to you, Ryu!" He begged loudly, burying his face in the other's neck. "You look so pretty like this!"

"N-Nnnn." He could barely make out the low mutter from Shuichi's mouth as his hands flew to remove buttons playfully. "Tachi!"

'_Tachi? No, darling, no. Wrong role play! Nittle Grasper, not ASK!'_

"Submit to me, Ryu!" He crowed, laughing as he wrestled protesting hands above Shuichi's head. "To Eiri Yuki!"

"**YUKI**!" The singer below him wailed, and Tatshua felt a jolt of victory.

Victory that was abruptly cut short as a strong, familiar hand wrapped around his neck, effortlessly prying him off his friend and into the side of the couch. Pain seared momentarily from his back, stars blinking before his eyes. With a groan, he rolled over onto his stomach as his voice of pain quickly transformed into a growl of annoyance.

"What the hell, Bro?" He demanded, shaking his head to clear it. "We were just playing, you know t-." His complaint faded off as he took in the sight that formed where he had been a moment earlier.

His beautiful, unemotional older brother was kneeling on the ground, knees buried deeply into the plush carpet as his long arms wrapped themselves protectively around the smaller, shaking form of his lover. A burning cigarette still hung loosely from his mouth, and his amber eyes, instead of glaring death at Tatshua, were instead half-lidded as they stared down at the other figure.

'_What the hell…?'_

"Hush, Shuichi," he heard Eiri whisper soothingly around his cigarette; watched as the tall form began to rock. "You're alright, Brat. It's just Tatshua. It's not him. I wouldn't let him near you, you know that. Relax. … Moron."

Tatshua slowly pulled himself into the same kneeling position as his brother, dark eyes wide as they watched the singer in the writer's arms. He could hear the light sobs, no matter how soft they were. He could see the violent shivers that shook even his brother, could hear the gasping breaths. The scent of fear, which he had ignored earlier, now hung in the air like the raw stench of death. It was so familiar. So darkly known … His eyes widened further.

'_Oh please, no,' _he pleaded silently, desperately. _'Not Shuichi, too.'_

"I'm sorry, Yuki!" He could hear the teen cry. "I know, I know. I'm … being stupid. He looks like you, but he looks like … he looks like him, too. And he … he held me down. He held … held me… touched me…"

'_Not him too!'_

"Hush," his brother whispered again. "Please." And then the molten eyes did lift, and they were filled with unadulterated fury as they caught his. But Tatshua was beyond caring, his playful front now gone, his own eyes narrowed with the same anger as they drifted from Eiri back to his broken friend.

"Who," he seethed quietly, violently. His brother simply stared. "Did it?"

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**I like to think I'm saving all of my favorite, best prompts for last. x3**

_Some people have been asking about how these submissions tie into each other. To clarify,_ this is not one solitary story_! It is a collection of drabbles, one-shots, and what-ifs revolving around Tachi's attack on Shuichi. Unless otherwise noted (ie, submission 3 and submission 8) they don't connect. Sorry for the confusion!!_

**Let me know what you're thinking! :)**


	11. Guilt

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Gravitation. Maki Murakami does.**_

_**Prompt:** Yuki contemplates. He knows it's his fault._

_**Rating: M** for mentions of rape, sexual situations, and Eiri's language._

* * *

**Guilt**

It's all my fault. Every glare I get from his team tells me so.

But they're all fucking morons if they think I don't know that already. If they think I don't know that he wouldn't have even been out on his own that night, if it wasn't for me. That wouldn't have been betrayed, beaten, hurt…

_Raped_.

If it wasn't for me.

When he collapsed that day, I allowed myself to touch him. To carry him home, put him in bed. I cried then, as I watched him sleep. Cried as I listened to the light shudders of his breath, burdened by pain. Watched the way his face scrunched up as his body moved, the whimpers and moans that escaped his lips as memories consumed him. He whispered apologies to me, and that made my heart clench in old torture. I thought he would sleep forever, and that made it hurt worse.

He reminded me of _me_. In the same situation, but worse. Betrayed twice over.

He never spoke of it, after that day. After he assured me he was fine, after he accepted me from my past. Would he so quick to accept me, to forgive me, if he knew that he had suffered because of me? If he knew that I was the one ... that I was the reason...

I tried to leave, but it killed me to hear him plead for me to stay. Just as it kills me now, that he looks to me for protection from his nightmares and demons, when it's my fault all along that he has them in the first place. My innocent lover, so badly broken.

Every time I look at him, all I can see are bruises, long-since faded, still fresh on his face. Every time he speaks, all I can imagine is that heavenly voice screaming in pain and terror, begging for someone to help him; save him. Every time he leans close to me, allowing me a whiff of the scent of his shampoo, all I smell is the blood I know he shed that night.

I should have killed Aizawa that day, and it's my fault, too, that that threat still hangs around. That Shuichi still looks over his shoulder occasionally, finds reasons and excuses to never be alone. Where he was once vibrant and happy and naïve, he's now cautious and scared and old. The once brilliant light in his amethyst eyes has dimmed down to a dull sparkle. Still there enough to fool the world and his ever-adoring fans, but …

It's not fair, not to him, that he was hurt so violently because of me. That he felt he had to protect me. That he was even put in that situation because of me.

I long to hold him, to comfort him, to do something other than push him away for his own safety. I wish I was worthy enough, that it didn't hurt to make love to him when he asked me to. I wish I felt like I wasn't manipulating him at every turn, that he could see how wrong I was for him. How dangerous. How much safer he'd be somewhere else.

I promised after Kitazawa that I would never let someone I loved go through that. I swore, and yet I had done it. When he says "Tachi" at night, tears trailing down his face as he seeks consolation against me, I know.

It's all my fault.

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**Short, yes. But I had to be careful, because this comes close to another piece. Sorry!!**

**Let me know what you're thinking, please? I love hearing from you all! :)**


	12. Sickness

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Gravitation. Maki Murakami does.**_

**Prompt: It eats at Shuichi, that Yuki won't share a bed with him anymore. It eats at Yuki, too.**

**Rating: M **for mentions of rape, dark thoughts, language, and sexual suggestions.

* * *

**Sickness**

His body shook with shudders he refused to acknowledge.

The bed was cold, despite the recent addition of a thick black comforter to the normally sparse sheet set. The room was dark, even though the blinds had been open enough to allow beams of moonlight to provide some sense of lighting. The atmosphere was dense and suffocating, pulsating around him like taunting laughs that took the sweetest victory in the whimpers that begged to escape his mouth. He simply clenched his jaw, closed his eyes, and refused to let them. Or tried.

Yuki wasn't there, and it made Shuichi shiver more.

It had been gradual, he knew – the distancing of his lover – but it seemed so rapid. He could still remember the warmth of the other man, soundly at his side. The gentle traces of fingertips along his side and spine, a promise of more … strenuous activity. More often than not, he woke to find his arm reached across the blonde's side of the bed, or with the other's pillow pulled up against his chest.

'_It's only been two weeks,' _his mind chanted.

Two weeks, but he could still see Tachi's face every time he closed his eyes. He remembered the threats and whispers as though they had just been whispered in his ear, still felt the calloused hands roughly violating his body. More nightmares than he could care to recount, and that was the problem. Yuki had already started being careful around him, a little more distant, a little more cold. He shared the bed with a hesitation that Shuichi couldn't miss, held a slight timidity in his touches. But the final straw had been when the singer had shot up in bed, screaming Tachi's name and sobbing hysterically. Yuki had stared at him, golden eyes wide and glaring with an expression he had never seen before, before yanking the sheets away and racing from the room.

He hadn't come back, and that had been a week ago.

'_It's me.' _Shuichi reminded himself, stomach clenching. _'He can't stand me now, now that I've been ruined. He can smell it, too. Taste it. Them.'_

The claim that had never quite warn off. The tainted oil that was permanently bathed onto his skin. The fact that the men followed him everywhere, clung to him, when Yuki tried to touch him. He was destroyed, no longer a desire, so deeply taken. There was nothing beautiful about him anymore, nothing anyone could yearn for without a wrinkle of disgust at the tarnish. He was not worthy of even the lowliest of attention, and certainly not of Yuki Eiri.

'_But I need him.'_

Slowly, carefully, as he had so many nights before, the pink-haired teen disentangled himself from the sheets, pausing only long enough to pull the black comforter around his shaking frame before moving forward. A cloak of darkness floating across moonlight; he paid no mind to the cold floor on his bare feet. Violet eyes hollow and elsewhere as they stared ahead at the door of the bedroom; he knees shook viciously in warning of collapse, and he let them, barely catching the doorframe to keep from knocking his head.

The tears of his nights were already falling as he clung to it.

'_I'm so sorry, Yuki,' _he mourned, scrunching his eyes closed again as his head rested against the wall. _'I know I ask too much of you, to keep me here, to watch me. I know it's selfish of me to stay, and hurt you like this. I…I know I have this sickness, Yuki. I know I can't be with you now, now that I'm like this. I know I should leave, before I give it to you, too._

'_But I can't…I've tried. I promise I have. But I can't leave you, Yuki. I … I need you. I need to be with you so bad it makes my head hurt just to think about it. Please, I need you to … please, Yuki …'_

"Please, Yuki," he whispered against the wall, just as he had the night before, and the one before that. "Don't leave me here. I need you. Please, Yuki." His shoulders shook as he slumped into the protective crinkles of the comforter.

"Help me."

-______________-

His hands shook so viciously that he had to put the mug down before it dropped and shattered.

His mug half-full of days-old coffee; it was tasteless to his numb tongue. Everything was tasteless. The coffee, the air, life. He barely acknowledged any of it, in the darkness he had surrounded himself in. The darkness he deserved to be in – surrounded by oblivion for the sins he had committed. His penance. It was cold, hauntingly so, and it felt like he was suffocating for the mere fact that he was still living, when justice demanded his death.

Everything had been shattered back into the places he always knew they would be, and it made Eiri's hands shake more.

He couldn't stand it. The recurring past, the guilt, the taunts the Devil threw in his face every time he dared to slip into bed beside the rose-haired teen he had taken into his home. The small hopes he had held of happiness at Shuichi's appearance had been destroyed with one vicious sweep – one violent act. He had tried to fight it, tried to prove that he was worthy of comforting the broken innocence, to prove that he could make things right. He was wrong.

'_Two weeks,' _he hissed silently, bitterly. _'Two fucking weeks.'_

Two weeks since he had thrown Shuichi Shindou from his house, two weeks since Hiro Nakano had told him of the attack. Two weeks, but he could still imagine his young lover bound and begging under street lamps as he fell to his fate. The stabs of pain in his gut whenever the singer would moan and whimper in his sleep had grown increasingly difficult to ignore. He had tried to be careful with him, kept cool and distanced himself, attempting to give him room to heal. But then he had been woken in the middle of the night, to Shuichi's horrified screams of _"Tachi!"_ and "_Stop, please!",_ and inhuman, aggressive sobs that were still fresh enough in his memory to tear at his heart. He couldn't handle it. He could do it.

A week ago, he had run from the broken teenager, and had not gone back.

God, but it wasn't Shuichi that had driven him away. Never in a million years would Eiri ever blame the other male for what had happened.

'_It's me.' _He didn't need to tell himself that. _'All I ever do is hurt him. I keep those memories around him every time I touch him. I remind him of what they did to him, of the pain and betrayal he felt. I keep his nightmares alive.'_

He yearned to hold the lithe body against his. To kiss every remaining bruise, every healing scrape. To suck atop every crude claim until his own had overtaken it. To cover Shuichi's tender body with his own, to taste the sweetness of strawberries that still clung to his skin. To beg the singer stay, to forgive him. To let _him_ stay. But Eiri could not fool himself into believing he deserved to touch the soft skin again, to kiss the lips that had whispered his lies back to him. He wasn't worthy of him.

'_But I …'_

Mechanically, his knees uncurled to push him from the chair of his study, away from his closed laptop and solace of the dark. He cringed with each heavy step across the floor, desperately forcing his eyes anywhere but at the doorway he walked through. He was trembling by the time he stopped in front of the door that had been his destination for the past few nights, and without a word he allowed himself a moment of weakness to fall. Sliding down the wall, cradled against the panel of the entryway that blocked the innocence his heart soul craved for.

"Please, Yuki."The same words from last night; he bit his tongue to keep from answering, eyes burning as blood trickled into his mouth. "Don't leave me here. I need you. Please, Yuki."

'_Don't ask me, please!' _The writer's mind raged as his body curled into itself. His chest seared with a familiar pain as his arms wrapped around his knees.

"Help me."

Eiri ignored the tears that slipped by, dropping his head into his folded arms his body jerked with torment.

'_God. Shuichi!_

_I can't.'_

* * *

**Last short one for a while. Got to start back on my "what-if" submissions. ^^;**

**Let me know what you're thinking, please!!!! The reviews from the last submission really … really made my week, guys. Thank you all so much! :)**


	13. Protective Cost

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Gravitation. Maki Murakami does.**_

**Prompt: What if K went after Aizawa?**

**Rating: M for dark themes, mentions of rape, and character death. **

* * *

**Protective Cost**

This was unacceptable.

Not what he was doing now, no. But what had already _been done_. It was downright barbaric, and a stupid move on the idiot's part. Not his idiot, of course. None of this was Shuichi's fault, and he'd kill anyone who suggested otherwise without the slightest but of hesitation. Even Touma Seguchi, though that would put him out of the job. He would kill anyone for even daring to think that they could hurt the pink-haired teen and get away with it.

Like now.

Fury pulsated through his veins with every beat of his heart, and it was only with conscious thought that he was gentle with the pistol in his hand as he loaded it; put the silencer in place. K, honest to God, like Shuichi Shindou as more than just a source of income and amusement. Even if _he_ had not called in the favor and ask that he be the one to do this, he would have been all over it the second he had found out, anyway. If there was one thing the blonde American despised more than violent acts against innocent people, it was violent acts against innocent people he _liked_.

"Attacked" was all that had been told to him, but in his head K knew it was more than that. He bit his tongue harshly as he recalled the haunted glimmer in the lilac eyes of his normally cheerful vocalist, the stuttered way his body moved. The way he had flinched, if only barely, when Hiro had touched him. The dead ring of his voice, as though the entire world had ended, as though something had been … lost. It all tied up, all mixed too well, too perfectly. There was no doubt there. None.

With a grim _**grindclick! **_he slid the pistol closed, tucking it carefully into the back of his pants as he swung his trench coat over his shoulders. Slipping his sunglasses needlessly onto his face, he closed the door to his apartment and stepped into the night.

_(Please come right away. I have a ...favor to ask of you.)_

Shuichi was just a kid – a naïve, talented kid who still believed in the purity of the world and lent it his voice to allow in the shine. When he sang, K could feel every emotion in the teen's heart vibrate around the room, and it sent shivers down his spine. In more ways than a few, Shuichi was just like Ryuichi – just as passionate, just as bright. There was a certain … purity, that only those two came with. An untainted aspect, and childlike innocence that made K want to just reach out and hold them against him. Protect them from everything, as he had taken the job to do. As he had vowed to do.

'_And failed,' _he hissed to himself. The coolness of the deadly metal against his back soothed his self-loathing as he quickly walked down the empty sidewalk, and his glasses glimmered in the streetlight as he darted quickly across the road. The red car waiting before him rumbled lowly, and he passed it with a quick, affirmative glance.

_(I'll supply you; no one will be implicated. An unsolved case. Oops.)_

The band manager had seen a lot of violence throughout his life; he was no stranger to it; didn't believe that it didn't exist. He knew it was unbiased in it's victims, and chose randomly, like any nonchalant, cruel hunter. Nothing could escape it. And though it pained him, he understood why Aizawa had done what he had – only a fool wouldn't be able to look past the bubbly exterior and inferior starting point to see what a threat Shuichi really was.

'_But that doesn't give him a right – an excuse.'_ Azure eyes glinted beneath the glasses as he finally stepped into the shadows, fingertips grazing the chalk-white wall as he did. _'He will pay for his crimes, and I will repent mine.' _He turned the corner, and stopped.

The bastard was sitting on the curb, in the same spot where he had been sighted last. A young man, probably only a few years older than his own singer – K had never actually paid attention to Seguchi's other band, too awed by Bad Luck to bother. But he did now. His expression claimed stupefied, fearful, but his eyes – they held a glint of anger the American recognized instantly, and it made him want to reach for his gun. Anger that came after revelation – Aizawa obviously knew how he had been discovered, knew what it meant. No doubt he had threatened Shuichi to keep his mouth shut, thought his tactics would enforce the order. And no doubt that he was now seething with rage, plotting the scenarios on how best to carry out those threats to ensure maximum pain for his victim.

Jaw set, K stepped out from the shadows.

"Hey, Aizawa," he called out softly – he was careful to keep his voice gentle, unwilling to race after his target. Startled dark eyes lifted to his face as Aizawa's head jerked up, and K bit back a smile at the frown that formed on the handsome face. "So kind of you to wait here for me." _So very kind._

"Who are you?" The singer snarled, just light enough to be out of polite anger. K was standing in the middle of the street now, a perfect distance, and allowed himself to stop on the dotted center, cocking his head to the side just enough to come across as a non-threat as he took in the sight again.

He could see why Shuichi would have trusted him. His face held traces of smile lines around the mouth, and the eyes were expressive enough that they would have easily portrayed warmth and trust if Aizawa had wanted it badly enough. He was slim, bigger than the younger singer only in height, and though it had been angry, his tone was soft. Too easily manipulative, too easily disguised. Someone as innocent as Shuichi Shindou would not have blinked twice at such an offer of friendship, and Aizawa had known it; used it to his advantage. It made the gunman's blood boil.

"He begged you, didn't he?" The blonde asked softly, setting a foot forward as the angry eyes took a confused light. "I bet he did." _Damn it, Shuichi. _"I bet he was confused when you started, I bet he cried. And I bet that you took enjoyment in every tear that fell. Every scream he gave."

The confusion was gone as K took another step forward, replaced by horrified fear. He stood, and for one gleeful moment, he was sure Aizawa was going to run. But maybe his feet had been unable to move, or maybe he knew it was fruitless, because the raven-haired singer ended up simply staring him head-on.

"Why do you care?" He whispered, and his voice sounded so dead that K allowed his smirk to finally come out.

"He's mine." _Mine to protect, mine to answer to, mine to beg for forgiveness. You, so unworthy to hear his voice, dared to lay a hand on him! _"They are all mine. You should never have thought to touch him. I won't give you crap of having "your future secured" if you hadn't. Had I known you even had such thoughts, I would have killed you sooner." Swiftly, he removed his sunglasses, allowing Aizawa to see his eyes as he glared. It was only honorable. "But you still should not have done it."

He withdrew the pistol before his target could even think to respond, switching off the safety and pulling the trigger without a second thought, aim perfect for the silent echo. He watched, stoic, as the body crumpled to the ground in a puddle of blood, slipping the steaming metal back into its spot.

'_What would you say to this, I wonder?' _He turned his back, digging into the pocket of his jacket. _'Would you understand? Would you see?'_

"**Done?"** A voice clipped over the phone. K's smirk stayed in place as he held the small phone up to his ear.

"Yes. Clean it up, and keep it quiet. You have two minutes."

"**Got it." **The phone went dead, and was dropped back into his pocket.

His feet did not carry him back to his apartment, or even to the red convertible that still rumbled patiently, waiting to carry him off. Instead, they carried him across the torn walkways of two alleys, the shattered gravel of an abused street, and floated him across the glide of smooth pavement of a perfected driveway, so far away from the justice he had served. Without pausing he pressed the required numbers, slipping in through the door before it was completely open, and climbed the stairs in silence. When he came to the door, he simply pushed, unsurprised by the lack of resistance, and stepped into the dark apartment lit only by the gentle white glow of a playing television set.

K stopped when he entered the living room, silent as possible as narrowed amber eyes lifted to meet his own. Eiri Yuki stared him down, assessing what could not be offered in words, warning what was clearly heard. Had the assignment been successful? Was the man dead, were they clear of blame? Do not ask, do not speak, do not tell. They were both still at the sound of a soft moan of pain, and K allowed his eyes to lower from the novelist to the small frame tucked firmly against his side. Shuichi slept in troubled peace against his lover, bruises and other marks obvious on exposed pale arms, blanket pulled tightly against the rest of his body.

"Put the gun back where you got it," Yuki ordered softly, hand soothing back pink locks tenderly as the teen shifted at the noise. "And … thank you." _For answering when I called_.

'_You surprise me, Eiri Yuki. With your call and your care. Maybe I was wrong about you. Maybe…'_

"It was my pleasure."

* * *

**That … was really not where I saw this piece going. At all. But when I thought of a K submission, all I could picture was him in this outfit, gun drawn, standing in front of Shuichi who was on the ground. And when I thought of how K would even know of this, well … why not Eiri? It just fit so perfectly.**

**Let me know what you thought, please? ^.^**


	14. pristine

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Gravitation. Maki Murakami does.**_

**Prompt: Hiro's thoughts of anger and guilt after the attack.**

**Rating: T for dark thoughts and other mature content.**

* * *

**pristine**

It's wrong, the things we ask of him. What we expect from him. So selfish and inconsiderate, that we push for a certain attitude, for precision. That we demand of him what we cannot be ourselves, that we grow angry when he cannot be what we want. That we desire from him … perfection, and settle for nothing less. No matter the cost to him.

He's anything but perfect now, as he clings to me so desperately. My best friend, whom I've sworn to protect for the rest of his life, from anything and everything but himself. Now huddled against my shirt as he sobs tears that are useless in the rain. Bruises shine in the street lights, glittering on his skin that was flawless mere hours before, testaments of my failure by him. Whimpers of pain occasionally bring a break in his crying, and I know that he had not been lying when he said he couldn't move anymore.

I could break something, kill something.

I ask him a simple, but painful question.

He gives me a simple, but heart wrenching answer.

"_Yes."_

I could _hurt_ _someone_.

There's no hospital. He begs me for the safety of my studio, and I cannot deny him. He tells me things on the way, small things, but vital. And though my heart rips at each sliver of detail that escapes, I say nothing. He spends forever in the shower, and each minute that passes is another tear to my heart. I imagine him on the other side of the thin door, his tears still flowing as he runs a washcloth over his scrapes. There's a pool of blood at his feet, never washed away because the blood flow is never ending. I see his knees shaking as he struggles to keep standing; his teeth digging into his lips as he bites them to keep from crying out. His eyes … they're haunted. Dead. Because he believes no one cares for him anymore. Because …

He's out now, and I waste no time in ushering him to the bed. I pretend not to notice the violent flinch away from me as my hand accidentally brushes against his back. He's still wet, but I say nothing, because I think it was probably too painful for him to try to dry off. I lay the covers over him as he presses gingerly into pillows – it hurts to see the pain in his red-rimmed eyes. He never expected this. We never let him believe in the possibility.

"Hiro?" His voice is still low as he speaks, raspy from the abuse and the outcry on the street. I say nothing, simply meeting his wandering, wounded gaze with my own. "Stay … stay with me, please? Just until I … I go to sleep?"

I'm still silent, but I grasp his hand tightly in mine, rubbing soothing circles over torn knuckles as his eyes drift closed in reluctant exhaustion.

My list of pain is short, but harsh. Tachi Aizawa has been killed seventy-five different ways in my head in the past ten seconds, all painful and drawn out and … unpleasant. I close my eyes against the assault of guilt – I knew how much the older man loathed Shuichi, and how Shuichi loved to bait him. There was something about the ASK front man that just rubbed me wrong, something dark, and dangerous. But I had not warned my friend.

The hand in my own clenches suddenly, and I look to see a flicker of fear and hurt wash over the slumbering face, before they both disappear in an instant.

"…Yuki. Ple-please. Please help me. Yuki."

I yearn to bestow the same punishments on Eiri Yuki. Bastard. I warned him – I warned him! The injuries I had planned on bestowing upon him when he threw Shuichi out are nothing compared to what I have in mind for him now.

I look at my best friend once more, cringing when he moans as he shifts to his side. Gently, I release his hand, leaning forward enough to brush a kiss against his head before standing.

We have hurt him bad enough, by not letting him hurt enough. I pause at the door, and look at him again. I too, though I swore otherwise, have added to this pain. I have my expectations of him, things I ask of him. I demanded that he be my salvation. I have never turned away from him, but I have questioned him. Endlessly. Sometimes … even harshly.

"You haven't done anything wrong, Shuichi," I repeat my earlier vow quietly. "Nothing."

I can't hurt him again. I won't kill his lover.

I step out the door.

But maybe his lover can kill Aizawa.

Maybe then we will all be a little more worthy of the forgiveness we will no doubt receive.

* * *

**I'm honestly thinking of a more indepth version of this one ... I think it could be better. But this is the original prompt submission, so there you are. ;)**

**Please let me know what you're thinking! :)**


	15. Drops

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Gravitation. Maki Murakami does.**_

**Prompt: Suguru comes across a crying Shuichi in an empty studio room.**

**Rating: T for implied rape, dark material, and light language.**

* * *

**Drops**

The notes were all wrong, and thought hidden in the damp security of the room where they were nothing more than a well-kept secret, it still felt immoral to even allow their existence. Like a betrayal. A ruptured spleen of pain, moans of dying sickness and unwanted departure. A funeral procession, perhaps, though instead of being the accompaniment, it was the grief – the cries of despair, the rages of denial. He hated funerals.

With a suffering sigh, Suguru Fujisaki pulled away from his keyboard, eyes of deep almond glaring at the instrument with a mixture of loathing and love as he powered it down. There was no real reason for him to be at NG today – he had been plenty of warning in the phone call from his cousin this morning that Bad Luck had the rest of the week off of work. But sitting around, not doing anything when he could be making music, made him antsy. And it angered him, that his band was not creating, not recording. One well-doing single, and Hiro and Shuichi were slacking off.

More Shuichi than Hiro, he was sure.

"Ugh." The sixteen-year-old pushed up from his bench roughly, hair the color of deep sea water dancing wickedly on his head as he strode from the practice room in haste, long legs making a perfect stride. He ignored calls behind his back or to his side as he passed by random workers – just people who wanted to get on his good side, so that they could get closer to Touma. Not that his cousin would allow that, of course. But it was still annoying.

Annoying, like Shuichi's lack of commitment to Bad Luck's success.

'_He needs to understand that he's not a club performer anymore!' _The teen raged silently, offering a glare to an overly-friendly secretary, who quickly backed off. _'This is the real thing. Bad Luck can't get anywhere without work, and if we don't start having results from our work … Touma will drop us.'_

And he would have to go back to the boarding school. Back to the lessons, the reprimands. Pulled away from his beloved keyboard and constructions to be forced onto a proper piano and strict rules of composing. Back into a suffocating role where not even Touma Seguchi could rescue him from. Not twice.

He hated Shuichi for that small but strong amount of power he held. When the singer performed – God, but there was no one else Suguru would rather be around. Shuichi pulsated passion and devotion when he sang, poured life into his lyrics that made the keyboardist's fingers itch to create. But any other time, and the pink-haired teen was lax. Unfocused. Undisciplined. _Uncaring_.

He hated him!

"Hello, Little Touma!" Suguru was forced to jerk back as a taller body jumped in his path, eyes wide as he stared at the bouncing figure in front of him. Radiating happiness, smelling a little too strongly of cherries and Sakura blossoms, a pink rabbit in lieu of a face.

"Ryuichi," he mumbled back politely, forcing a small smile on his face. "What are you doing here?" The bunny danced to the side to reveal a beaming smile under mocha dark eyes.

"Oh, I haven't left," the legendary singer chirped, patting Suguru's head lightly. The smile faded slightly as the gaze became curious. "And you? You're not supposed to be here today. Touma said so." He gasped loudly before the teen had a chance to answer, eyes becoming starry in a silly expression. "Oh, Su-su, have you come to see Shuichi?"

Suguru froze. "Shuichi's here?" _What? Why wasn't I told? Practicing without me? _Ryuichi nodded, heedless of the other's internal words.

"Yep! In one of the back rooms, the one with the old piano. He asked me not to disturb him, so I haven't. But he looked like he could – oh, are you going to see him, Little Touma? I don't think he'd like that…" But Suguru was already moving.

'_Practicing without me! Playing the piano…'_ His mind raged as he practically raced down the further halls, moving freely in light of the uninhabited area. _'The piano's mine – I play those notes! I put the tones there – it's mine! How dare he even think he could do this without me. That he could use that … that instrument.'_

He paused outside the door, hearing a faint, repetitive measure, and scowled deeply at the thought of the hyperactive teen taking over the accompaniment.

'_This stops now.'_

He cracked open the door, and stopped.

The room was dark, save for the sunlight brought in by the small, high window on the other side. It bathed the small studio in a dusty glow, almost like sunrise over a foggy graveyard. The notes he had heard outside, once light, were now heavy, more obvious. There was a quality to them Suguru could not quite touch with a name … something haunting, doomed. A repeating chord of nothing but sadness and suppressed life. And yet it sounded … hypnotic. Like a broken music box.

And Shuichi was sitting there, both hands high over the black and white keys as his fingers moved in tight, rhythmic motion. His eyes weren't focused on the piano, or on the muddled notebook before him. Facing off into nothing, staring at the gray wall as he was bathed in the light. Suguru's breath caught at the sight of him, the difference rooting; he had never seen it before. His singer's face was caught in a torrent of emotion, not a sign of a smile in sight. The aura surrounding him swam in deepness – there was no happiness. No vibrancy. This was not the childishness he was used to, but nor was it maturity.

The notes suddenly shifted, and Suguru jerked forward unconsciously as Shuichi's face suddenly scrunched up as though in pain. Before he could enter the room, however, words cut through the air; raspy and mixed with their own message. It sounded as though Shuichi hadn't used his voice in years.

"_Twisted on the inside, I am, I know, but I'm frozen so perfect on the out,_

_I've been screaming, and crying for you._

_Shadows calling, taunting. Lost and alone, I can't figure it out._

_Please tell me, if I've anything to lose._

_Please tell me you know I've been used."_

Singing. Suguru stared, the disturbing tone enrapturing his anger and fading it away.

"_Trusting the deceiving doves of pure white,_

_Their symphonic songs hypnotizing with notes of loving delight._

_Bringing pain and nightmares inflicted with fight,_

_Innocence trusted, believed, and was gone in the night._

_Though the days and promises, life no longer …"_

"Damn it!"

It was like a violent storm. The keyboardist pulled back, surprised when the melody was slaughtered by a vicious onslaught of sharps and flats – Shuichi's fingers were replaced by his hands as his fists slammed down onto the keys. The small form was hunched over the piano, and even in the dim light Suguru could see it shaking.

"I can't do anything right anymore!" The shout was hoarse, followed by racking coughs that sounded just as painful, interrupted by brutal chokes.

Was he crying?

"Why did you do it?" He heard Shuichi whisper, dulled – he had yet to raise his head back up. "I would have done what you asked. You knew I would. Why … why did you hurt me? Please. Please tell me."

'_Hurt him?' _Suguru pulled back further, eyebrows drawn together. The chokes suddenly reined to sobs, so loud and heartbreaking that the teenager felt his body go knife-stabbing cold. Like he was frozen.

"_Tell me_!"

"Move." The word came a split second before Suguru found himself shoved to the side, a flash of gold darting by him and into the room. Startled, his gaze could not help but follow, watching as a tall figure carefully approached his breaking singer, pulling him into a firm but gentle embrace.

Eiri Yuki.

"Touma called," he could hear the novelist mutter lowly. "Damn brat. I told you to stay inside." He could see long, pale fingers card through silk pink hair; the trembling body pushing deeply into his.

"It hurts, Yuki." Suguru was beginning to hate that voice. It sounded so old, so … wrong. "It hurts. Always. Why won't it stop?"

"Shuichi-."

"Why did he hurt me like that, Yuki?"

Suguru pulled back, absently pulling the door almost closed behind him.

Had he been wrong? Had he misjudged everything so horribly?

_(Why did he hurt me like that, Yuki?)_

He stumbled back further. Felt sick, disgusted.

This was wrong. So wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong.

He dashed from the corridor as quickly as he had entered it, streaming past the still friendly faces, ignoring Ryuichi's "Little Touma", passing by the elevator currently resting on the top floor to instead chase up the stairs. This couldn't … this wasn't right.

Had he misjudged everything, or the situation? It had to be wrong. He barely flinched as he slammed bodily into the double oak doors.

"Suguru?" His cousin's voice, confused, with a tinge of grim reality. He turned his eyes upward pleadingly.

"Tell me I'm wrong."

-______________-

Two days later, and he was back in the room. Musty, as silent as the graveyard it both resembled and represented. He circled his quarry critically, taking in every aspect, remembering every scene. It gleamed back at him, flawed.

Smudges on ancient black hardtop, dried chips on the keys. Drops of tears from excruciating pain, forever frozen on an instrument who had been able to glimpse it. He trailed his fingers over it carefully, before finally sitting down.

_(I can't do anything right anymore!)_

His fingers moved on their own, flowing over the keys like ocean waves. A repetitive theme, mixed with random notes that didn't belong, but that were perfect. Ringing like drops of blood from a shallow wound, staining the pure instrument with the reality of the world.

_(Why did you hurt me?)_

Sharp. Wrong. Wrong. Right.

"What are you playing?" Hiro's soft voice – Touma had asked for him specifically, leaving Suguru in the guitarist's hands to explain everything. Two days, and they had come back here. Two days to lose homicidal tendencies. Two days to calm down. Two days to know that he could not kill a man, no matter the crime. His place was here. Here for when sanity was ready to be restored. Here for support to be leaned on. ASK was gone, and he could not follow.

The thought spent the notes he played to spiraling fury – he pictured a kaleidoscope of red and orange. And black. Black for sin, and death. He hadn't known before.

"Suguru?" A hand on his shoulder – the notes slowed, and he answered.

"A funeral piece," he muttered, flinching as his fingers grazed one of the tears.

"Whose?"

(_Please tell me, if I've anything to lose._

_Please tell me you know I've been used.)_

"Everyone's."

_(Please tell me you know I've been used.)_

He wondered if Shuichi would understand.

* * *

**Please let me know what you're thinking? :)**


	16. Claim

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Gravitation. Maki Murakami does.**_

**Prompt: "Yuki," he whimpered, tracing the mark with timid fingers. "It won't go away. It's permanent, Yuki. It won't go away. It'll never go away."**

**Rating: M for mentioned rape, dark thoughts, self-harm.**

* * *

**Claim**

He blinked.

It stayed.

He blinked again.

Still there.

Unable to stop staring, eyes wide with sick horror and morbid fascination, locked on the reverse image of his shoulder. On the pale pink, glimmering mark so out of place on his tanned skin. It had been there – always been there – but he had hoped … hoped that it would have gone away with the others. Faded away, maybe. Dimmed until it no longer existed. He would have settled for it combusting spontaneously, burning his skin to an even more horrific scar, if it meant that it would go away.

But it was still latched on there.

"Oh…"

They had all faded, over time. All of his cuts, his bruises. It had been so much easier to look at himself in the mirror, without all the blemishes of his stupid mistake still covering his skin. Easier to forget that anything had ever happened, to forget that Tachi Aizawa and the rest of ASK hadn't actually been sent on a trip by Touma Seguchi to better their career. Easy, so easy.

"Yuki?"

Slowly, as though he feared pain, Shuichi lifted his hand, allowing his fingers to ghost over the rigged mark as he watched the action in the mirror. It felt … twisted, under his light touch. Fake, even, if he let himself go that far. He pressed down on it a little harder, forcing himself to feel it, to remember…

_(Like that, you little bitch?)_

Rigged bumps, a small void between each, in the form of a deformed circle. Passionately placed – a poisonous passion, but determined. Not a scratch, no – not a scar from a beating, or a knife, as he had thought. As he had hoped.

_(Fuck! So … so.)_

A bite mark.

"Yuki," he tried again, but it was weaker this time.

A bite mark – a claim. He remembered the hand wrapped around his throat, the arm locked around his waist as the man had bit down – the excruciating pain. The fire that had burned so brutally inside of him as the teeth had sunk in, as the act was completed. No, not a scratch. Not even a bite mark in the throws of sickened passion.

A claim. A bright, vivid claim at the base of his neck, the juncture between it and his shoulder. Shiny, no longer bruised, but pink, like his hair. Pink … pink and … permanent.

_(He may let you go, but I never will. Never, baby. Never.)_

"Yuki," he whimpered, tracing the claim with timid fingers. "It won't go away. It's permanent, Yuki. It won't go away. It'll never go away."

His fingernails grazed the scar, sending a tremor of something darkly pleasurable down his skin. With wide eyes of haunted violet, Shuichi watched as his fingernails pressed down, digging, seeking – saw them pierce impenetrable steel, saw the blood that flowed. So familiar. It was all so familiar.

"Yuki." And then he remembered. Yuki wasn't here today.

'_Am I dreaming?' _He wondered, watching as his fingers brought more blood, eyes following the trail of crimson as it dribbled down his chest. _'Why doesn't this hurt?'_

_(It's only in your mind, baby. All of this. Heh. Damn!)_

'_He isn't going to leave me. He's not … not now. Never. It's never going to go away. He said never. Never!' _He gouged at the scar more, tears of pain he could not feel slipping from his eyes.

Beside him, his cellphone rang, blood dripping onto Yuki's glowing name.

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**Let me know? :/**


	17. Snuff

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Gravitation. Maki Murakami does.**_

**Prompt: "I want you to know." Should he tell Yuki about it, or not? (Does _NOT_ tie into Beloved Snow)**

**Thank you to: Secret Hidden Within Me. I don't think this is quite what you had mind, but your idea gave me this idea! So thank you. :)**

**Rating: M for strong implications of past rape, and dark thoughts.**

* * *

**Snuff**

You caught me off-guard with those words. You've never cared before, or at least you've never showed it, if you have.

You want to know, or think you do. I want you to know, I know I do.

And I imagine how it would go.

'_I asked them to stop.'_

I would say those words, and even though you asked for them – are expecting them – you would freeze regardless, fingers hovering above the keyboard where you were typing yet another perfect love story. You'd be stunned into silence, because for the past three months you've been trying to get me to say something, you've gotten nothing. My voice would be timid, because let's face it, I'm not exactly the epitome of bravery lately, and I still get nervous when you glare at me. My words will cut through the tension that had quickly built up at your request, and your eyes will narrow slightly, just shy of that glare I fear. And you'll turn, and eye me warily, because as much as I fear your glares, you fear whatever I'm about to say. I don't know how I know that, I just do.

You'll stare at me, studying me, wondering if I'm going to actually talk about it, wondering if you actually want to know. And since I know what you're thinking, and know what _I'm _thinking, I'll bow my head low enough to escape both you and the whispers that still echo in my ears. My nose will graze the page in my notebook littered with untruthful lyrics, and I'll inhale the smell of ink, with tense shoulders and trembling knees. And I'll feel your stare.

You'll know what I'm saying – you would, even if you hadn't asked. And maybe this time, like every other time you bring it up, your fists will clench in anger I don't know the source of. Your mouth will stay shut, because last time you tried to interrupt me, I left the apartment and didn't come back until one that morning. I still remember your look that night. I think you do, too. And neither of us want a repeat of that, so, incredibly, I'll continue speaking.

'_They had me pretty banged up, you know. I had a little to drink, enough to knock me off my game.' _I'll try to put that light spin on it, just because I won't be able to stand the way your head has lowered slightly, or the shadow of guilt that will darken your eyes from that beautiful gold to the brown I've learned to hate the sight of. And I'll laugh a little, too, because you've mentioned once or twice that you haven't heard it in a while. But I'll know it sounded wrong, so I'll continue before your eyes get worse. _'I would have been able to handle them otherwise – a couple of thugs, so what? No worse than the guys that were harassing Ayaka that night. They weren't exactly the nicest looking guys.'_

And it would go downhill from there; my composure, my lightness. Because I still remember them, all of them. They were all smiles when I saw them, all bright and happy, and so was I, because I can't hold my liquor. I'll remember how nice _he_ was as he held my shoulders to keep me on my feet. How soothing his voice was when I complained about being dizzy, how gentle his hands were, how cool, on my heated face. How much it hurt when he knocked me to the ground.

But you would still waiting. So I'd still be talking, even if I couldn't hold it together as much.

'_One minute we were laughing, and the next I was on the ground. He…he wasn't touching me, not really. Not yet. He let … let the other guys go first. Because they asked. You'd think that they would … would want to go one at a time. But they didn't. And they laughed, and laughed. And said my whimpers were beautiful and that my skin tasted like honey. They touched me everywhere, with their hands … with their mouths. And they bit me, like you like to. Only … only it hurt. It all hurt.'_

Yeah. It hurt.

'_And he watched the whole time, smiling at me. He would wipe away my tears as they fell, telling me not to cry even as I screamed with each painful movement. I threatened to expose them, to tell Touma, the police, anyone. And then he … he pulled out … he brought out that damn camera. That stupid camera! And he told me what he'd do, as he took the pictures.'_

I wouldn't remind you of the threats, of how he used you to get to me, because I hate the way you shrink every time Hiro brings it up. But you'd know what I'm talking about, as usual.

'_I … I asked them to stop.' _I'd repeat that, because I want you to know that. I want you to understand that I fought, begged, for them to release me. To not hurt you. _'I told them that I would stop singing, would stop writing, would quit Bad Luck. If only they stopped. If they let you alone.'_

'_But … but then the pictures were done. And he … he decided … it was his … I asked him to stop, Yuki. I swear I did.'_

"You're shaking, Brat."

Your voice pulls me from my imagination – you're frowning now, not glaring. But you're still sitting there, and your eyes are still that spectacular gold that I can't get enough of. I haven't told you anything; the entire conversation stayed in my thoughts.

"I-I'm fine," I reply, and shift enough that I'm tucked as far as I can be into the side of the couch. Safe, hidden. Held. Your eyes narrow further.

"Tell me?" You request again, and it's softer this time. You really want to know, want to understand what happened that night. Want to confirm your worst fears, maybe, or justify the plans you've been making to hunt them down and kill them. You want to know, you know you do. But …

"Please, Yuki," I whisper, closing my notebook and leaving the lyrics for another time. Another time when … I grab the remote and flip on the television. "Please don't ask me again. I can't."

And like every other time, your eyes darken, and your head lowers. And then you return to your perfect romance novel, where lovers don't keep secrets from each other. And our discussion waits for another fatal day.

Forgive me, please, Yuki, but I don't want to hurt you. I don't want you to kill them. I don't want you to hurt yourself because of my choice.

I don't want you to know.

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**Once again, not where I was planning this piece to go. What can you do? :)**

**Let me know what you thought!**


	18. Cold

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Gravitation. Maki Murakami does.**_

**Prompt: "Every second that you hurt what was mine, will be a minute longer your death will take. I will rip you apart and burn the pieces, and then do the same to myself." Eiri's thoughts as he goes after Tachi.**

**Rating: M for dark subject matter.**

* * *

**Cold**

_"What do you want from me?"_

_"I just want yo be near you."_

I am coming for you. You must know this.

_(Shuichi took a beating...)_

What on Earth would posses you to think that you could do such a thing, Aizawa? What would make you think that you had a right to lay on a hand on him? That you could do so, without suffering the consequences? What do you think of the pain I will inflict upon you for your actions?

I won't ask you. Because I know that you did not ask him.

_(He was a mess.)_

Nakano had blood on his shirt when he came to me. I don't even think he realized it. But I did. Oh, did I see that blood. And I know it wasn't his. And I know that you are the reason for that blood, Aizawa.

You hurt him, I know. Made him cry, made him bleed. Made him hide himself away, deep down. Did you try to destroy him, Aizawa? Did you try?

My Shuichi. He's beautiful, isn't he? When he's smiling, when he's sad. When you think you hate him, when his face haunts every waking moment. No matter what you do, or how hard you try to deny it, you can't. And I know you didn't. Nakano may have believed his lie, but I know. There is no way to resist Shuichi's call. I _know_ you didn't.

_(You made him cry.)_

I gave him to you, I know. But who better to kill a monster, than another? I understand your sins more than you do, I understand what you have done. I know how you will pay.

_(Horrified, he sounded so … beaten. He was whimpering when I left, but sleeping. I'd like … I think I should go back. If you can handle this.)_

I have planned your death in my head, Tachi Aizawa, and I assure you, as is your style, it will not be uninteresting. You have no need to fear that.

Neither of us deserved to touch something so pure.

And we will both die for it.

Every second that you hurt what was mine, will be a minute longer your death will take. Every scream that you pulled from his mouth, you will scream two – longer, louder than he did. For every tear that fell from his beautiful eyes, you will shed ten more, and if they are tainted, I will not care. And you will beg, as I know he begged. You will plead with me for mercy, and I will not give it to you, because you do not deserve it. I will make you bleed – I will rip you apart, and I will bathe the walls in your blood – spell out your sins and lies for everyone to see, and make sure that you are alive to see every moment of it. I will burn the pieces of you that are left, leaving nothing of you on this planet. And then I will do the same to myself.

_"I'm no good for you."_

_"I know. That's okay. I just want to be with you."_

* * *

**Let me know what you're thinking! And don't hold back criticism if it's lacking, please. (:**


	19. Unfathomable

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Gravitation. Maki Murakami does.**_

**Prompt: "Do you know what this is, Shuichi?" Tachi asked, and then smirked. "It's a camera. A camera that will take pictures of you, like this."**

**Rating: M for implications of rape. M for violence and dark material. Note the rating. -_-**

* * *

**Unfathomable**

_("I'm going to do it.")_

The words still echoed in Tachi's head as he watched the small figure of the boy he hated stumble from the effects of the tainted alcohol, and through a tinge of disgust his twisted smirk was brilliant.

"T-Tac…hi." Shuichi was trying desperately to say his name as he struggled to keep to his feet, and it kept the smirk strong. "Tac… somethi…something's wrong."

_("Tachi! You can't be serious! It's wrong!")_

Makun's warning was a distant echo as he moved to wrap an arm across the younger singer's back, under his arms to steady him. "Too much to drink, I think," he excused lightly, chuckling gleefully as Shuichi smiled in acceptance. Too easy. "How about I take you home, eh? Where are you staying?"

_("I'm going to do it.")_

"Er…" The smooth forehead crinkled as entrancing violet eyes narrowed in thought. "With… with my … my friend. Friiiiend…" The smile twisted upward a little more. He was out of it.

"Well, let's get you to your friend then."

_("I'm not going to cover for you, Tachi! I won't hide this for you!")_

_("That's fine. Ken will._ _And then what, Makun? Will you abandon us both so easily?)_

_("That's … that's not fair, Tachi.")_

"Too much to drink," he explained to startled hotel staff as they stared with wide eyes, taking in him and his obviously drunk companion. They accepted the reason easily enough, pushing themselves out of his way as if in fear of contact and contamination. Sunglasses and a baseball cap – lame disguises that did the job nicely – no one questioned them. A few disapproving scowls, eyes wide, nothing more as the smaller body trembled against his. It was too late for anyone respectable to be out. Too late for anything…

_("How's tonight sound? You'll be paid a bonus, of course, for moving the time up.")_

_("Tonight is perfect. I think we're more than ready.")_

"W-wheeere?" Who would have guessed the kid made a quiet drugged-up drunk? The word, though slurred, was almost too soft to be heard. "I did..n't tell you where…"

"Oh, that's alright, Shu!" Tachi assured with a gentle squeeze, leading them towards the back exit. "You'll get there, don't worry." He pushed the door open quietly, smirk still in place as Shuichi stumbled on the step and giggled. Small hands gripped him tightly to maintain balance, and through the childish laughter he could hear hiccups of gratitude for the help. No notice of the darkened area, of the lack of company. Or that they weren't heading in the right direction.

_("You know what would happen to you if you got caught? To us?")_

_("Don't worry about it, Makun! I won't get caught. I promise.")_

_("I just … why? Why would you want to hurt him, Tachi?")_

_("He won't get hurt that bad. I'm just going to … scare him a little. Don't worry about it.")_

"Took you long enough, Tachi," a low voice grumbled the moment he helped the teenager over the hump of the curve to the parking garage. His twisted smirk grew to a more relaxed smile as the two men he had called stepped into the dim lighting. The giggling of his companion stopped instantly as they grew closer, and he could feel the body in his arms tense in confusion.

"Tachi?" His name wasn't stuttered this time, and despite himself his risked a glance down, to see the eyes he hated staring at him in trusting suspicion. And he let Shuichi fall with a movement of his arm. Instantly, one of the thugs dashed forward and pulled him up into his own arms, touches less gentle than Tachi's had been. Shuichi's trust turned to horrific fear.

"T-Tachi?"

_("He's just a kid, Tachi. No matter how beautiful he is, how talented his is, he's just a kid.")_

There were so many ways to rid yourself of a threat, so many things that could be done that would not be considered illegal, and Shuichi was a threat. But Tachi had not been able to content himself with verbal threats, or subtle sabotage, because every time he pictured bending Shuichi Shindou to his will, and out of Bad Luck, it always managed to be like this.

_("He won't get hurt that bad.")_

Tachi was a good liar.

He said nothing as his thugs did what they were hired to do, did not flinch as Shuichi cried out as he was kicked in the back, punched in the ribs. His own glee grew as the singer's anger became more apparent – he shifted just right, and the camera in his pocket pressed against his leg in reminder.

"Stop." And they did, both of them, crazy grins on their faces as they massaged stolen blood further into the skin of their fists. They stepped back, leaving Shuichi kneeling on the floor, and Tachi approached in confidence. The teenager was not so intimidating when so beaten like this.

"If you want this to stop," he whispered over the bowed pink head. "Then you will go to Seguchi tomorrow … and resign from Bad Luck." The head jerked up, bloodied face twisted in an expression of surprise.

"_What_? Th-that's what this is about?" The intoxication that had clouded those eyes seemed to have disappeared in the pulses of adrenaline. "I won't do it! You can beat me up all you want, I'm not quitting my band!"

_("I'm just going to … scare him a little.")_

"Do you know what this is, Shuichi?" He pulled the camera from his pocket, smirking as the eyes narrowed in fury. "It's a camera. A camera that will take pictures of you, like this."

"So what?" The kid demanded before Tachi could finish, spitting a collection of blood from his mouth as a small smile of his own grew. "Like I said, do what you want to me. I won't leave Bad Luck. Ever."

"I was really … hoping you would say that." And he stepped back, a funny feeling in his stomach as those eyes lost a little the further he moved away. And nodded to the thugs. "I will take pictures of you like this, Shuichi." A solid punch landed directly in the side, and Tachi wound his camera. "Of you broken, bleeding, hurt." In point, he snapped the button and relished in the flash. He laughed lightly as Shuichi cringed away, and then abruptly stopped. "And I will sell them to every tabloid and newspaper, and claim Eiri Yuki did this to you."

And those hypnotizing eyes widened. "_No_…" But Tachi carried on regardless.

"But you've already refused me, and my offer to let this go easily. And I made a promise to these guys, of what would happen if you did." He allowed his smile to turn sad. "So I'm going to take pictures as they take their payment, okay? Okay, Shuichi? It's not going to be pleasant."

"For you, at least," one of the thugs added, and reached forward to yank off the teen's shirt.

_("He won't get hurt that bad.")_

-_______________-

One picture left, and the men were done. They stood off to the side, talking to each other, beaming and laughing as they waited. Tachi paid them no attention, eyes focused solely on the slim figure curled on the ground, shivering violently as thunder roared outside.

_("I'm doing it.")_

"Do you understand now, Shuichi?" He murmured, once again standing above the younger singer, who simply cringed in response. "I will destroy his career, if you don't quit. I will destroy him. Do you understand?"

"…_Yuki_…" The whimper was the only response.

"Will you quit Bad Luck now, Shuichi? Will you give it up to protect Eiri Yuki?"

"…_Yes_…"

Tachi snapped the final picture, and then kicked the clothes over.

(_"He's just a kid.")_

He pocketed the camera, and left.

* * *

**This submission made me cry. :( But it was necessary for the next submission.**

**Let me know what you thought?**


	20. Echoing

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Gravitation. Maki Murakami does.**_

**Prompt: "Would you hurt me, if I asked you to?" Shuichi doesn't mean half of what he says, only half of what he means.**

**A/N: Loose, loose tie-in to Beloved Snow (chapter three), if you would like. Or not. Just assume, when reading, Eiri doesn't know about the rape.**

**Rating: M for dark thoughts, dark materials, sexual implications, and implied past rape.**

* * *

**Echoing**

"Would you hurt me, if I asked you to?"

He had not meant to say the words, though they had been floating around in his head for a while. The look on Yuki's face at the mere thought made him want to retract the misspoken, unwanted sentence, and make his lover forget the words had been uttered at all.

But one couldn't erase things so easily, could they? No matter how desperately they wanted to.

"Excuse me?"

He wouldn't ask, not intentionally, not verbally. He didn't want Yuki to hurt him, not in the slightest. But he did He thought. He's heard.

They were standing in the kitchen, and for once there was no sight of his lover's sultry laptop, or his notebook of stalled lyrics. There was a tea kettle on the stove, boiling to perfection, and Yuki was hovered over it, one hand resting patiently on the handle, the other curved into a fist beside his leg. A flexing fist, and Shuichi flinched, looking down. He recognized the signs of anger in the novelist better than he did in Hiro.

"Would you … hurt me?" Damn it, but he couldn't stop asking, even if the question made Yuki angry. Because he really wanted to know the answer. "If I asked you to, _Yuki_, would you hurt me?"

The tea kettle whimpered lowly as the pale hand of words pulled away from its blackened handle, causing Shuichi to look up just in time to see the taller male cross the small kitchen to stand just a step away, pinning him against the counter with the golden look alone. So intense, so fiery. He could almost, if he looked hard enough, see a tint of madness in the breathtaking eyes. Madness he had seen before, under the illusion of friendship and rain.

"What are you talking about?" The words were low, whispered with just enough volume to be heard, the warmth of breath the true meaning of their existence. The teenager shivered under the onslaught of it against his skin, and for a second, everything was right in the world. Everything was as it was supposed to be – he was with Yuki, could smell Yuki, could feel Yuki.

The tea kettle whimpered again, a little louder this time, and reminded him why he was here.

"I ask for it, don't I?" He returned in the gentle whisper, peering up at his lover through his pink-tinged bangs. "And you want to do it. Wrap your hands around my wrists and hold them until they bruise. Kiss my lips until they bleed. Punch me in the gut to force me to my knees, because it makes me cry and my tears are beautiful."

It surprised him, that the eyes weren't so angry anymore, but frightened him, that the emotion that replaced them was one he had not seen before. Sadness? He shook his head, because he could feel this. Something … familiar. Wrong, but right, and he yearned for it so desperately his heart thumped in his chest with stabbing knocks of announced arrival.

"Please hold my wrists," he begged softly. "Please."

And just like that, the emotion was gone, replaced by the coldness he knew so well. He almost shivered in relief as he felt chilled pianist fingers wrap around his wrists, looking away from the amber eyes as the look tightened until it was painful. Wrong, but right.

"Is this what you want?" Yuki asked, emotionless, keeping the grip in place.

_("This is what you want. This is what I want. And this is what Eiri Yuki wants. This is what everyone wants from you.")_

"Yes," Shuichi whined quietly, shaking just slightly where he stood. Wasn't it?

"You want me to hurt you?" Yuki pressed, tightening the grip.

_("I want to do this.")_

"_You_ want to hurt me." The correction was automatic, the familiarity of the situation overriding all else. There was a soft-pitched whistle he almost couldn't hear, but understood very well. Empathy flowed, the desire for companionship at its heels. "I always ask. It's only … only natural."

Something was wrong.

Yuki was pushing closer, his movements forcing Shuichi's wrists to bend in known fashion that sent a spike of dim warning to his mind, their bodies shoving together tightly in an uncomfortable position. There was something in him that cried out to be let go, to run, to escape again. To somewhere he didn't know, somewhere safe.

Teeth nipped harshly against his neck. "_Why_ do _you_ want me to hurt you?" And their bodies grinded bitterly, slamming Shuichi's back against the hard wood of the counter, pulling a cry from his throat.

Wrong, so wrong.

_("You asked for all of this, you know. You always have.")_

"B-because I ask for it. I ask for it. I asked for it all. I always do, I always have. I asked for it."

"How do you want me to hurt you, Shuichi?" Yuki stilled his hips, pressing their faces together, side by side, to whisper in his ear. "How do you want to hurt?"

_Like you do, sometimes. Like you do when you're mad, when you don't see me in bed. When it's not me you're with._

A loud, mournful screech cut his words off before they could be spoken, and Shuichi jerked back. Realizing where he was, how he was, what hurt, why it hurt. The tea kettle continued to cry out horrifically, calling for anyone, someone to help take away the pain. But no one was listening.

Wrong, wrong, wrong.

"…_No!_"

Shuichi wrenched his wrists from the iron hold, ducking away from the strong body that had pinned him down, and dashed for the kettle. Holding its handle soothingly as he pulled it from the stove, shaking violently as its cry died down, comforted. Comforted, comforted, but still echoing against the walls.

"Shuichi?"

_("I didn't mean it, Tachi!")_

_("But you asked for it!")_

"I…I didn't mean it, Yuki," the singer informed softly, a small, timid smile forming on his face as he placed the kettle onto a heating pad. "I didn't mean it."

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**Apparently I haven't unpacked my updated prompt list. Gr. So this is what you get. :S **

**Let me know what you thought, though? Please? Seriously, good things, bad things (eh, not flames). I'm open. :)**


	21. Bruise

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Gravitation. Maki Murakami does.**_

**Prompt: "I don't know why it bothers me," he whispered softly. A brief touch into Eiri's confusion following the days of the attack. Canon-centered.**

**Rating: T**

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**Bruise**

There was a bruise on his face.

There was a bruise on his face, and the very sight of it made Eiri cringe in bitter memory that had no attachment to the source of the deadened flaw. It was the only mark that could be seen on the otherwise golden skin, so long as that skin was covered in clothes. A mark of maliciousness that could not be hidden; a darkened blotch of brown and purple blood that would not flow, cradling it its claws of locking despair one of the two vibrant amethysts that had been to become his best-kept secret. His favorite jewel.

There was a bruise on his face.

On his, but not on the face of the one who had blemished Eiri's jewel. Oh, he had been certain justice would carry out, whether in the hands of God or power or blood-lusted beast, and that man would be long dead. But no matter the punishment paid, Eiri knew there would be no bruise upon that man's face. His eyes would remain unflawed, and there would be no reason to hide his marks from the world.

There was a bruise on his face.

On Shuichi's face, and as he stood beside the bed, a cloth of lukewarm water in his hand, Eiri found himself mesmerized by the sight of it yet again. Without the violet orbs staring at him, so broken by its presence, he only saw it as something deceased; something twisted and shriveled with poison he shared familiarity with. As always, in the past few days, he placed the cloth across the bruise as one would cover a corpse. And he wished it would fade away as such. Buried and suffocated and long, long gone.

There was a bruise on his face.

"I don't know why it bothers me," he whispered softly to the sleeping form of his lover, golden eyes narrowed even as he gently arranged the cloth to every curve and corner. "There are so many other marks on you, scratches turned to scars, other bruises. I can't even count. And you meant nothing to me. Just a brat." His forefinger, long and bred for creative labor, dragged lightly across the cloth regardless. "So small. I thought … I don't understand."

There was a bruise on his face.

And though it was now covered, he could still feel the tense heat it radiated, knew its existence from the brief frown that fluttered across Shuichi's face at his touch on it.

There was a bruise on his face.

There had been no bruise on Eiri's, no physical mark that lasted longer than a day. His demons, though taunting, were invisible. At times, many times, he could force himself to pretend they didn't exist. His demons, though immortal, were dead.

There was a bruise on his face.

On Shuichi's face. And because of it, Eiri could not leave.

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**I just wanted to take a few brief punches at my keyboard to thank everyone who has stuck with these stories thus far, those who randomly show up, and especially those who review. I'm going through a rough patch in life right now, and your reviews and messages mean a lot to me. Remind me why I do what I do and why I enjoy doing it. So thank you. :)**

**Let me know what you thought, please? (:**


	22. Grieve the Closed Eyes

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Gravitation. Maki Murakami does.**_

**Prompt: **"I knew something was wrong, but I didn't know. I promise I didn't know." Ryuichi grieves. Character death**. **

**Ties into entry 9 - Poor, Sweet Innocent Thing.**

**Rating: T for character death, implied suicide.**

* * *

**Grieve the Closed Eyes**

I don't think I can wait much longer.

There's something wrong about my impatience, I know. Or wrong with _me_, maybe. I know, or I think I do. It's wrong, regardless.

Maybe.

It's cold, because it's snowing. I usually like the snow -- it's soft, powdery pieces balled up in my hands, freezing and wet but so gentle against my skin. A great companion to play with, as kind and moldable as I try to be, always there in the colder months, pure in its whiteness, always there to catch me when I fall. Like it's falling now.

But I don't catch it. Not now.

I don't I can wait much longer, standing here so far back. So far away.

Eyeing the two bowed pretty blond heads, the shorter one taller this time. I watch a familiar pale hand sooth a tense, dark back.

And I _fidget_.

Have you ever been surrounded by every comfort you've ever known, and still felt sick? Not philosophically sick, or bored sick, but so sick you wish your insides would just disappear, and that the world would just split open and you'd fall down the crack? So sick you just want to curl into a ball on the ground and plead for death because it's just too terrible -- to much to handle? I'm past that, I think. I feel so sick that I don't feel anything at. Nothing but an intense shivering pain that makes me just want to be cold. Really, really cold.

I hate feeling like this. I want to smile again, and laugh, and make that hurt go away with sparkling words. But nothing's sparkling.

I really don't think I can wait any longer.

It's so empty here, empty like I feel now. There's footsteps in the snow, slowly filling up, though it's so empty. Three sets, maybe four. I don't remember, and besides, they're gone. Here, the snow isn't dancing while it falls, and it doesn't hold that gentle playfulness I like about it. It's freezing against my fingers, on my face, against my hair. Stinging me, biting me, making me regret its very existence..

It's mean, like everything else here. Really, really mean like everything else.

Almost everything else.

I hate mean, but I'm really done waiting.

But the pretty blond heads lift just as I take my first step forward, the dark bodies turning to me, one set of eyes lowered and unreadable, the other staring at me intently. Same old eyes, same old expression. The pretty ones walk by me.

"Please don't be long, Ryuichi," that same old voice whispers as they do. "It's very cold out here."

And their footsteps start to disappear too. I wonder if they were even here, even as I step backwards in them to go to where they were. And I bow my head, too, even though it's not blond. Kuma is in my arms, and he shifts just enough so that I remember he's there. Which is nice, because I forgot.

I'm so sorry, pretty little baby. I knew something was wrong. You were different, so different. I knew something was wrong, and still... I didn't...

"I didn't know." The words leave my mouth as I stare at the snow-covered spot you lay in. Maybe it will be better if I say this out loud. I want you to hear me. "I knew something was wrong, but I didn't know. I promise I didn't know."

You didn't tell me. So much time from when it happened, and you didn't tell me. Tell anyone. But it's not your fault. I wouldn't ever blame you -- I don't blame you. I prided myself in knowing you, more than I thought others did. I should have seen it.

"I brought Kuma for you. He wanted to stay for a while -- Touma didn't tell him he couldn't, so he's going to stay ... for the both of us. And for Eiri, too." For some reason, I have to swallow. "Touma is taking him home, or he'd be here still. He wants to stay with you, like I do. So Kuma is going to do it for all three of us. Is that okay with you?"

Kuma liked you the moment he laid eyes on you -- he told me. And I know you liked him, too. Your eyes always shone when you saw him. So I think it's okay.

"Pretty baby." You always blushed when I called you that. I hope you don't mind it now. "Sparkly Shuichi. I'm sorry I yelled at you, when I found out you left. I didn't mean to say all of the things I did -- I don't hate you. I miss you. Forgive me, please."

I don't blame you for what you did, leaving us like that. I would have done the same, I think. Being angry at you would just be selfish. I just want you to be happy, and I think you are now.

I hope you are.

I set Kuma down on the ground, a stark contrast of brilliant pink against the cold white snow, against the marbled overcast headstone.

I don't think I can wait much longer. Touma will get mad, he says I'm sick enough. And even if I wasn't ... I can't ... stay here with you, Shuichi, and not hear your voice.

So I turn away. And I don't look back to see if I can see my footsteps, either. I want to remember I've been there.

I hate crying in the cold.

* * *

**In the end, maybe I just wanted a reaction piece. That, and I really needed an entry to seperate that previous one and the giant Yuki/Shuichi one coming next. I can't actually decide if I'm really pleased with it ... **

**I feel like I've written something like this before, but at the same time, that I haven't. What do you think? I know Ryuichi would have had a stronger reaction to Shuichi's suicide, but this is post that reaction. **

**Please let me know what you thought. :) Does it work?**


	23. Prelude

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Gravitation. Maki Murakami does.**_

**A/N: Sorry for the huge gap in submissions! :(**

**Prompt: Just a moment. A moment of insecurity, of a sense of loss and fear, and something that would lead to more.**

**Rating: M for language and mentions/flashbacks of rape.**

* * *

**Prelude **

His first night back in the apartment, and he hadn't even made it to the bed.

Two days. It had only been two days.

Yuki had gone out, to some place or another Shuichi hadn't really paid attention to, with a soft whispered promise that seemed so out of place and untrue that he was sure it didn't actually pass that cold mouth. But the point was that Yuki had gone out, leaving no company but the shadows brought by the dim lighting and the mutters of the low-volume television – poor company, but he knew what would happen if he left them to go to the bedroom.

The same thing that had happened at Hiro's, which had brought him back to this apartment in the first place.

So he sat on the floor, as far from the comfort of the couch and the warmth of the vents as he could, arms wrapped around his knees he had forced up to his chest in spite of the protesting pain of his ribs. His legs throbbed pointedly, and the sharp stabbing in his lower back questioned his motives with a dangerous mentality. But he simply rested his chin against his knees and stared unblinking out of the large glass door of the balcony.

It was raining.

Always raining, even when it wasn't raining.

It wasn't raining.

But he could see the shadows of the drops against his skin, trickling over him without touching him – they were always there, even when he couldn't see them. This was just a greeting from a phantom he wasn't going to forget; an acknowledgement that he wasn't really alone. Or insane.

He wondered if Yuki was coming back. He wouldn't blame the writer if he didn't. He didn't ask what had happened, didn't mention the bruises in places a normal rough-up wouldn't bring, the way Shuichi had bowed out of the offered kiss with a flinch violent enough to knock him sideways. He didn't press for the assurances Hiro had, or growl in the anger the teenager knew he had to be feeling. Just put a blanket over his shoulders, a cup of milk in his hands, turned on the lights and television, and …

Left. With those words Shuichi wasn't sure he had said.

_("He doesn't love you. Kicked you out, didn't he? Poor little Shuichi.")_

'_God_.' The mug in his hands shook slightly, its half-empty contents swishing about at the movement. '_GodGodGodGodGodGodGod._' What was he going to do if the other man didn't come back? He hadn't told him – hadn't said what happened … would he even care? He was already such a burden, such a complication, such a nuisance. Would he care?

_("And even if he did," A rough hand on his waist, a sharp pinch of fingers that brought tears to his eyes. "Do you think he would now?")_

His arms wrapped tighter around his knees, jaw clenching as he could _hear_ his ribs creak in objection, and though the skies were clear and starlit outside the glass, he closed his eyes and could see the flashes of lightning like phantom clowns under the strobe lights of a haunted house. And he could feel it—

_("Feel that?" A brutal movement made Shuichi pitch forward, a sharp cry ripping from his throat as he felt something inside of him tear apart.)_

He jerked away from the door so quickly it took the pain until he was at the other side of the room to catch up. But he didn't double over this time, didn't scream, didn't cry as he felt his bones shift and slip inside of him. His shoulders heaved as he took in breaths he couldn't catch. The television spoke softly, but its words were no longer soothing, its light no longer safe. They had been murmuring, always talking, but softly. He couldn't hear the words, but he knew the tones. He knew what followed.

_(A swift punch to just below his ribs, and suddenly he couldn't breathe anymore.)_

_(A calloused hand pushing poisonously against his throat, moving in rhythm.)_

_("Finally.")_

"Get out," he whimpered desperately, reaching up to clutch sweat-damped hair. "Tachi. Get out."

Shuichi's body slid along the wall, shaking so violently that even that solid support was questionable in its ability to keep him upright. Staring at nothing, but seeing everything – a small cry erupted from his throat as his shoulder bumped against a raised panel – the doorframe of Yuki's study.

_("I've known Eiri a long time," Ryuichi admitted softly as they leaned against the side of the ice cream shop. "I think … I think writing helps him cope … with things.")._

Yuki's study – Yuki's safe-haven?

(_"I've got you.")_

"_Getoutofmyhead!"_

And he ducked, away from the whispers and away from the logic, into the forbidden room.

-x-

He's against the wall, pressed to the floor, curled up as tightly as his body will allow. Two hours later, but his phantoms have not followed him. Regardless of the quiet, darkened peace, he's still awake.

Because two hours later, Yuki has not returned.

* * *

_Aptly named, that. There's a second part, so it's all good. A surprise second part I'm excited to write but that I won't post for a while, because it's just that **cool.**_

_Let me know what you thought? :)_


	24. Untitled

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Gravitation. Maki Murakami does.**_

**A/N: Tie in to submission 9 – between 9 and 22. There's probably a few more pieces to be attached to that particular prompt.**

**Prompt: ****He wishes he had a damn cigarette and a damn time machine to go back and just change the fact that the weight in his hand is from the handle of a coffin.**

**Rating: M for language and dark material.**

* * *

_**Untitled**_

The sun is shining.

The sun is shining, and it makes him feel a little guilty for it. Not because it is there, providing warmth and what not, because that would be a stupid thing to feel guilt over. No. It makes him feel a little guilty because even though it's one of the most beautiful sights he has ever seen (and he's seen a lot of beautiful things), and people are walking out in it and smiling, and it's warm and because of that it's comforting, he really just wishes it were raining.

Because while people are enjoying this sun, enjoying this glorious weather, enjoying that their eyes aren't clouded with grief and that their feet aren't dragging and that their shoulders aren't slumped with the defeat by the bastard called life, he's walking on grass freshly soaked by a sprinkler system long shut off. Walking on freshly soaked grass, with the weight of heavy brass held tightly in one hand, his eyes lowered and his feet dragging and if it wouldn't make his burden falter his shoulders would be slumped too. It's hot and taunting because the damnable sun has no use for his thick black jacket and slacks, sees no need for anyone to be sad this day.

He wishes he had a damn cigarette. A damn cigarette and a damn cold breeze and a damn fucking time machine to go back and just change the fact that the weight in his hand is from the handle of a coffin holding the body of someone dead long before his time.

_Covered in blood – pink tinged with red, white covered in it – laying across the bathroom floor so comfortably as though he had just fallen asleep there. A soft, small smile on a lately broken face. _

As people around him cry, as his feet hold firm and do not slip, as something cold brushes tenderly across the back of his neck to offer that cooling breeze he longed for, as he wishes for rain and rain and damn it, damn it all for fucking rain, Yuki can't help but smile at the bitterness of it all, and his golden eyes glint hard.

That he's here, in a cemetery again, surrounded by people he doesn't know just to be with the one person he does know, as he surrounded by an orchestra of grief so poorly and brilliantly conducted. He's finally holding hands, exposing it all, and the one person who even gave a fucking damn isn't even seeing it. Feeling it. Enjoying it.

"I'm glad it's not raining," someone behind him whispers as he and other faceless men carry the coffin by. "Shuichi was so happy all the time, so radiant. He deserves nothing less than a sunny day."

The sun is shining.

The sun is shining, and even though he has heard the words, and even though he agrees with those words, and even though he knows he will return to this grave every year for the rest of his life – even before he goes to the grave of the other – he feels a little guilty for it.

Because, as he rests the coffin on top of the holdings, and steps back away from the mourners, as his lungs suddenly seize up and he doesn't wish for his cigarette anymore and the world starts to fade a little bit, he still wishes for the fucking rain.

* * *

_All moved back to Washington now, things kind of straightened out. Thanks to anyone who's sticking with me._

_**Not sharing my thoughts again, not on this particular set. But I would love to know what you are thinking. **_


	25. stuck

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Gravitation. Maki Murakami does.**_

**Prompt: It's all the same and all different and it's so damn confusing.**

**Rating: M for language and dark material.**

**

* * *

**

**stuck**

The whispers are calm and gentle, a soothing caress against his shaking form, wrapping around the lashes across his back like cool bandages with healing cream.

_Save me from myself._

_Save me, save me, save me._

_Save me, save me, save me._

Softened hands on his heated skin, calming fingers through his sweaty hair, comforting him like a mother would a frightened child. Something smooth and cold running along his wrists, and they trapped something much harder than bone.

_I feel trapped, so empty._

_I'm empty, I'm empty, I'm empty._

_I'm empty, I'm empty, I'm empty._

He flinched harshly at the piercing click and crumple - metal against stone as that hard something fell to the ground. He slumped, and painfully so, and the wrappings of bandages were replaced by burning softness.

Not in the garage, but safe in bed. Not in bed, but safe in the garage.

_There's such cold in here, for me._

_I'm cold, I'm cold, I'm cold._

_I'm cold, I'm cold, I'm cold._

He screamed.

* * *

_**An AR drabble I found in my notebook today. Thought I'd post it. :)**_

_**Couldn't get anything to center in Manager. Hopefully it does here.**_


	26. Rose

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Gravitation. Maki Murakami does.**_

**A/N: One prompt of a few that involves a rose**

**Prompt: ****Yuki holds out a rose. A black rose, the petals still wet with ink bled from one of many pens****. **

**Rating: Hard T or soft M. There's implications that can be easily missed.**

* * *

**Rose**

Shuichi's throat is raw as the last note bounces from wall to wall, barely heard above the noise the applauding crowd. A different crowd than what he started with – a crowd of dark colors that are oddly at home in the techno colored lights that swim from the stage. If he coughs a little bit – just lightly – to force up the hint of bitter metallic taste to envelop his tongue, he doesn't admit it – and if his band mates hear it, they don't say. It's not a thirst for blood that drives him, but a need for a … reminder.

And that's a little less dangerous than a thirst – a yearning – a lust. So it's safe.

Saf_er_.

He smiles a painted smile from behind a mask of cold thick black eyeliner, below hair that has been dyed bleeding crimson atop innocent pink. The music has faded, but he can still feel the desperate, pain-filled melody that had danced from the bones of their instruments, and the crowd could too. Their cheers of approval at his performance have moved to deafening but appreciative roars, and he bows low in humble acceptance, silent, letting the techno lights beat off his black leather costume in contradiction. His smile transforms into a grin as his face became hidden. It's bitter, almost. Definitely sad.

He had once thought the world wanted to hear melodies of love.

But it was through memories of pain that he is able to speak and connect with them the most.

Hiro and Suguru stand perfectly, deathly still, but he lifts slowly, replacing his dead living smile, and his eyes land on his lover. Standing there, in the shadows of the light, against the side back wall, golden eyes illuminated under golden hair and wearing the same dead expression that has become his emotional paramour. With a small, farewell wave to the crowd the man has Shuichi's undivided attention, and in seconds he's beside him. Silent, not touching.

"Yuki," he greets, and it's soft – almost quiet – filled with a new sense of understanding. A flash of white teeth in a sardonic, biting smile returns the greeting, and Yuki holds out a rose.

A black rose, the petals still wet with ink bled from one of many pens. Without hesitating, Shuichi grabs it, lips forming a matching smile as thorns bite into his ruined fingers and drop blood to the floor. His jewel-colored eyes lock with Yuki's own, and they smile at each other in a manner few are intimate with.

The crowd continues to cheer from their emotional high.

A promotional poster for Choko Company's newly signed band _ASK_ slips from the wall.

And Shuichi's blood drips to the floor.

* * *

_There will probably be an addition or two to this particular prompt – a before and after. A during, if I feel like it. If you want, you can read this as an … opposite, almost, of submission 2. But it's not. Features the same concept though – that Shuichi's music changes after the attack._

_Yes, I have been getting the reviews of suggestions and requests for submissions. I've made a mental note of what you guys are after, it's just that … I'm not ready for those submissions to be posted yet. :) But they will be. Soon. I promise._

_Let me know what you think?_

_Happy Easter! :D_


	27. Camera Shy, part 1

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Gravitation. Maki Murakami does.**_

**A/N: Well, this I've structured oddly.**

**Prompt: Shuichi's developed a horrifying fear**

**Rating: Hard T, light M.**

* * *

**Camera Shy, Part 1**

_('You don't understand.'_

"I'm trying."

'_It's not that easy.'_

"You're not trying."

'_It's __**not**__ that easy!'_

"Do you even want to?"

'_Why can't you understand?'_

"I think you do … sometimes."

'_I can still __**feel**__ them.'_

"I'm going to help you.")

**-x-**

The commotion outside of the door was loud and unintelligible – the shouts and cries were clearly recognized, but the words they echoed could not be made out to anything articulate or meaningful. As though they no point in their existence other than to simply exist, and in that manner of existence that was cruel and filled and happy and hollow, like floating homeless phantoms who were unable to complete their unfinished business despite their constant searching, despite their eagerness and willingness to sacrifice for it, despite their absolute almost lustfully exotic desire to obtain it, because the source of that unfinished business had yet to be found.

But that unfinished business, in the form of the teenager's soul, could hear their sharp orders to appear; could feel their cold, chilling breaths on the back of his neck, and his shivers were endless because of it.

In the shadows of an oppressing room, his brilliantly pink hair had gone crimson in the darkness of the moment that had so astutely shattered his resolve, blending into the dark paper of the wall is sweat-dampened head rested on. From its opposing side, he could not visually see the two familiar forms of his band-mates standing before the crowd. But his mind provided the image for him clearly, almost tauntingly – they were standing with a feigned air of pride, a faint blush on their faces as they explained away his absence to a sudden illness, though none in the crowd would be able to interpret the flush for anything more than pleased excitement. Their shuffling feet would be waved away as pent-up energy, their awkwardness as an artists' disinterest in frivolity, so long as they both kept beaming the false smiles of celebrity on their faces that had long since been perfected for the flashes of the devils that had driven him away in the first place.

A horrid flinch of intolerable pain crossed his face as one of those devils fluttered close, hissing pleasantly vicious in his ear, its forked tongue piercing his skin across its wicked, knowing smile.

"Shuichi." A gentle hand came to rest on his shoulder, firm and comforting and friendly and familiar – familiar in more way than one that made his skin cry out in shock and his chest to scream as though it had been stabbed with a sharp thick blade. He balked away from the contact so violently his entire body crashed into the shadows as another devil came to sit where the other hand had just been, eyes flashing sadistically enough to bring tears to his own.

"Shuichi." The voice repeated his name again, softer this time. "Shuichi. The car's here. You can leave now." His dulled lifted – cautiously, dreading the sight – to meet the darkened blue ones of his manager. Car? Car. Here. For him.

He bolted.

**-x-**

He eyed the object with unblinking fixation, his thin arms pale and shaking as his slim fingers gripped the leather cover of the passenger seat of the whispered car of his lover. The little devils of brilliant glares had followed him from his building of protective shadows to his longed for security, a lonesome trip of forlorn sonnet and damned if he hadn't known all of the promises were too good to have been true.

"I told you I was going to help you through this, Brat."

Yuki. His Yuki, sitting beside him, topaz eyes as cold and calculating as ever as they stared ahead; yet somehow he had known of Shuichi's trepidation.

He eyed the object again, so small, so common – _so harmless_ – as Yuki's long, pale, claw-like fingers reached out and wrapped around it's poisonous black casing. It didn't burn him the way just looking at it burned Shuichi.

"We're going to take some pictures, Shuichi."

(_We're going to take some pictures_.)

(_God, you're so beautiful_.)

"I _will _help you through this." Strong or convicted, he wasn't sure.

His hand clutched the silver child-locked door handle as the car of his questionable salvation raced down the night-covered streets, aching to tear it open.

_(Smile for the camera, Shuichi.)_

He wanted out.

* * *

**3 parts of 3 parts.**

**Let me know what you're thinking? Or not. I'm open to either. :)**


	28. play

**_Disclaimer: I do not own Gravitation. Maki Murakami does._**

**A/N: intended to be read in the rhythm and voice of a child's playground song.**

**Prompt: Tachi's little game.**

**Rating: T**

* * *

**play**

Let's play a game,

Just you and me,

Friends,

Together in the rain.

It goes like this.

_Drip, drop,_

_Drip, drop._

Put your hands behind your back,

See me from your knees,

Just a little wet,

Watch the cement crack.

_Drip, drop,_

_Drip, drop._

Here is another friend,

One, two,

Three, four

See the fists descend.

_Drip, drop_

_Drip, drop_

Pain is okay

Clothes are optional

Cameras are not.

Cry and you lose the game.

_Drip, drop_

_It only hurts you if I want it._

_Drip, drop._

_**B**_

_**L**_

_**E**_

_**E**_

_**D**_

_Drip, drop,_

You are nothing.

_Drip, drop._

Shuichi,

I hate you.

* * *

**..**

* * *

_Two years too long of a hiatus? Anyone still here?_

**Either way, I would love to know what you thought of this._ :)_**


End file.
